


The Mercy Seat

by CLiquor



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 99,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CLiquor/pseuds/CLiquor
Summary: In a galaxy where the Republic and Sith Empire are at war, the fate of countless worlds rests with Obi-Wan Kenobi and his companions. Obidala.
Relationships: Aayla Secura/Original Character(s), Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	1. Infiltration

**THE MERCY SEAT**

War! The Republic is losing ground in its battle with the Sith. Led by the Dark Lord Darth Sidious, the Sith have conquered countless worlds, bringing the galaxy to its knees. Lured by the promise of power, disillusioned Jedi Knights are defecting to the Dark Side.

In space above the Outer Rim world of Sarna, Republic warships battle a Sith fleet commanded by General Grievous. Amidst the chaos, a Jedi Master leads a daring mission to rescue a captive senator from the ruthless droid.

* * *

...

The chaos was beautiful in its violent way.

Dying screams of his brothers poured from the radio. In the crossfire of battle ships, starbursts swallowed A-Wings and Ties, before scattering remnants like so much garbage.

Two Interceptors were right on his tail. Sizzling debris bracketed his ship. Relentless flak rattled his teeth. His hair clung to his face in sweaty clumps.

The Sith flagship appeared in his window. But as it did his threat display whined. The flash of a cannon—a blinding fire—lasting only a moment before starving in space—then the remnants of his wing whizzed by the window. From his slot behind the cockpit, R2D2 mewled at his master.

"Calm down, R2. We're all right. Shift the stabilizers to compensate."

The droid steadied the ship, but they couldn't take another hit. The Interceptors were rapidly gaining.

He snapped the ship sideways, aimed straight for the flagship. "Ready on thrusters. We're going in tight." The droid shouted dismay. "It's no time for caution! Do your job, R2!"

Without the left wing, a jagged stump at the edge of his vision, every jerk of the stick was almost useless. He leaned on the Force, using pure will to steepen his descent.

The cabin air thinned. Punishing gravity threw his head at the seat. He felt the skin of his face sucked toward his back.

The Sith pilots of the Interceptors were able to match him. The computer warned of a target lock.

At the edge of consciousness, he barked at R2: "Fire thrusters!"

The A-Wing leveled, scraping along the flagship. Amber sparks flashed between fighter and cruiser. The Interceptors closed as Obi-Wan Kenobi kicked on his burners. The sudden blossom of flame blinded the Sith. Their Interceptors collided. Exploding wreckage smashed on the hull.

The resulting shock wave jolted the A-Wing, but Obi-Wan's palms were steady on the stick. Catching his breath, he turned to R2. "You're so excitable," he lamented. "We're almost there. Keep your wits."

He brought the A-Wing around, head banging the chair as he lurched to one side. He could see the docking bay. The shields were down, just as expected, as a batch of Ties prepared to launch.

"Should be a happy landing," Obi-Wan said, dodging cannons as he made his approach. "Not too fast now, R2..." The ship accelerated, shuddering as bolts were whisked into space. "R2! Are you even listening to me?!"

The A-Wing crashed into the bay, wiping out droids and the ships they were servicing. Obi-Wan's fighter skidded across the hanger, cannons ripped away with a metal-on-metal howl, until finally his ship gnashed to a halt.

A dozen droids surrounded the vessel.

"Careful with this one," the nasally leader warned.

They waited in silence, casting glances at each other. R2 gave a shrill beep, drawing their attention, before the cockpit window shot into the air. Obi-Wan followed with a graceful leap.

His lightsaber flashed on, cleaving three droids before he landed in a roll. With a flick of his wrist, he threw two against the A-Wing, turning them to scrap as sparks lit his face. The rest were destroyed with a few quick strokes. Burning refuse piled at his feet.

Obi-Wan stood back to admire his work. He looked at the A-Wing when R2 mewled. "Well, you can come out now. And a lot of help you were."

R2 beeped petulantly. "Sure, sure. You'll get the next ones." Obi-Wan's eyes fell on an elevator: "Come on, R2. Stay close."

His companion trailed after him. It would have felt routine if not for their objective. Entering the elevator, Obi-Wan called up a schematic. "Do you think you can find the senator?"

In a matter of seconds, R2 relayed the data.

"What's on Deck 47?" Obi-Wan asked. He frowned at the reply. "That's an observation chamber. Odd place for a prisoner. Looks like another trap..."

The droid whined uneasily.

"What are you complaining about? I'm doing all the leg work, as usual."

R2 beeped under his breath, starting the elevator.

Obi-Wan tugged on his beard. He thought of the hostage, a friend of many years. It was a deep attachment he couldn't ignore. He'd expressed that to Yoda, who dismissed his concerns. But he knew his own heart. He feared Yoda's faith was gravely misplaced.

He placed a hand on his saber, clearing his mind. Friendship or service. Concern or duty. Whatever his drive, he would not fail.

* * *

Pale yellow lights spawned shadows through the chamber. At the far end of the room, a massive viewport showed the battle in space. The dogfights were over. The Jedi had lost, drifting dead in the glowing graves of their A-Wings. The last Republic cruisers were going down swinging.

There before him was she for whom they died.

The hostage sat shackled in an ornate chair. Obi-Wan's heart burned in his chest. He descended the stairs, smiling tightly.

"Obi-Wan," she breathed. "How did you get in here?"

"Later." He flicked two fingers to remove her shackles. Padme stood, rubbing her wrists. He said, "We have to get moving. It won't be long—"

His mouth snapped shut as the door slid open. A man in a black cloak walked to the edge of the platform. Obi-Wan met the cold stare of Quinlan Vos. His yellow eyes were set shallowly, seeming ready to fall from his sharp, gaunt face. On either side of him were two droids brandishing electrostaffs.

Obi-Wan breathed. "Hello, Quinlan."

"I've been waiting for this," came a voice like crunching glass. As a pupil of Sidious, Vos left much to be desired. He had no patience for plotting, met every agitation with spasmodic vengeance. To be denied it by Obi-Wan, and for so many years, was a niggling disgrace.

"I don't doubt that."

"Put down your weapon. I'd hate to bloody you in front of a lady."

Obi-Wan stood in front of Padme to block Vos' view. "I don't think so," he said, voice dangerously low. "You'll not get away this time, Sith."

Vos jumped to the floor below, igniting his saber. Obi-Wan threw a look at Padme, who moved to a safe distance. He met Vos cautiously in the middle of the chamber.

"Your death will delight Lord Sidious," Vos taunted.

"Not, I think, today."

Vos opened with a swing, easily deflected. He tried lunges and hammer strikes, stymied at every turn. No nuance, no feints. Just style, rage. He pointlessly flipped, almost losing his legs, pants split and sizzling where Obi-Wan sliced them.

He whirled and struck—red clashing with blue. They stood eye to eye, staring between the burning X of their blades. Obi-Wan pulled away, ducking a swipe. He dropped to a knee and slit his throat with a back swing.

Vos silently screamed. He collapsed on his side, head partly detached from the depth of the cut. His mouth held dying words he was helpless to utter. This was his fate from the moment he turned. Obi-Wan squinted, measured a kick. The Sith's head ripped away from the last of his tendons.

Padme didn't move, transfixed by the corpse. When Obi-Wan called her name, she snapped to attention.

At the top of the stairs, Obi-Wan dispatched the two droids. He led her out of the chamber into a corridor. Padme took his hand and he pulled her along.

"You knew him," she said.

"Pardon?"

"The Sith."

"We were friends as younglings," Obi-Wan said.

"But he turned."

Something flashed in his eyes but was quickly forced down. Perhaps when they were safe, she'd remove its weight from him. "How are we getting out of here?" she asked.

Two droids appeared, opening fire. Obi-Wan deflected their shots and they exploded against the wall. "Watch and learn, milady." He raised his comlink: "R2, come in."

The droid beeped back at him.

"Have you found transportation?" R2 whined. "Well, what have you been doing this whole time?" Obi-Wan continued before an answer: "Nevermind; don't tell me. Are there any ships in Bay 2?"

R2 beeped in the negative.

"What about the escape pods?" Padme asked.

"Too risky. We'd give Grievous a clean shot."

The droid made a suggestion.

Obi-Wan mused, "Eject all the pods at once? That's not bad, R2. We'll meet you there." He paused, adding affectionately: "Stay safe, old friend."

* * *

From inside the lift, they heard the dull thrum of droids. Obi-Wan drew his saber.

The doors slid open. He decapitated five in one swift motion. Before they could fall, he threw the dead droids into their kin. The living scurried on the floor. He cut through the tangle like a farmer does brush.

He took Padme's hand. "Come on."

She stepped through the fallen droids. "How did you do that?"

"Very carefully."

They hurried down the hall, sharing a smile of victory when they saw the escape pods.

At the end of the corridor, a bulkhead opened. Six Sith appeared from the shadows. Rubicund eyes burned beneath hoods. Red blades ignited. The air smelled of lighting.

"I don't suppose they're here to see us off."


	2. Escape

"Tell R2 to move!" he growled. Padme stumbled into the pod.

Obi-Wan switched on his saber, blocking an attack. He shoved the Sith back. Then he parried the next foe. He sensed a third man behind him, ducking a slash that beheaded another Sith.

Aided by the Force, he leapt away to gather his wits.

Sealed in the escape pod, Padme yelled into the comlink: "R2D2! Are you there?" The droid swiftly replied. "You need to get down here! Obi-Wan's in trouble; there's too many Sith!" R2 asked what she expected. "I don't know! Just think of something!"

Obi-Wan wound back his arm, heaving his saber. It severed a Sith's legs before flying back to Obi-Wan's hand.

The remaining Sith charged. Obi-Wan deflected—but took glancing blows to his shoulder and hip. Adrenaline rushed through him. He kicked one in the chest, sending him hurtling to the wall.

Still three more advanced. He swiftly backpedaled, waiting for an opening. They didn't attack right away, only tauntingly jabbing. Obi-Wan parried them patiently.

As they began their true attack, the fire alarm blared. Retardent chemicals sprayed from the ceiling. The Sith's focus broken, Obi-Wan struck. He speared one man's stomach. A spinning elbow dropped the second man to his knees. He cut down the third Sith, before decapitating the kneeling one.

The familiar stench of person-grist assaulted his senses. Cross-sections of organs splayed out on the floor.

Obi-Wan's pain registered. He staggered, nearly tripping on a disembodied head. His heavy legs carried him to the pod.

Padme ripped the hatch open, eyes like saucers. "Obi-Wan! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Now where is—?" R2 wheeled around the dead Sith. "There you are! What took you so long?" The droid mentioned the alarm. "Oh, that was you. Nicely done."

R2 rolled into the pod. Obi-Wan shut the hatch, while R2 worked the computer. At the end of the hall, a bulkhead opened. Heavy footfalls thundered on the deck. "Move it along, R2!" Outside the pod, he heard a familiar cough.

"The escape pods!" Grievous bellowed. "Open them all!"

A mob of droids and Sith darkened the window.

" _Now_ , R2!"

The entire row of pods ejected into space.

Grievous barked into his comlink: "Bridge, destroy them all!"

Seconds later, he watched his ship open fire. There was a series of bright flashes before the remaining pods dropped into the atmosphere.

Grievous remained where he was for a long moment. There was no way of knowing if he'd hit his target. A low growl of frustration rumbled from his throat. He stomped down the corridor, Sith and droids parting around him.


	3. Awaken

It was a struggle out of darkness. The Force was coiled around him like sawtooth wire. That wasn't something the non-sensitive understood. The Force was heavier, more metallic, than most knew. Denying its pull took ceaseless will.

Obi-Wan groaned as he broke from sleep. A man and woman appeared over him.

The man was of average stature, looking twenty-five or thirty. His earnest, stubbled face was scraped in places. Bright blue eyes, dulled by fatigue, regarded Obi-Wan kindly.

"Hello," he said gently, in a Coruscanti accent much thicker than Obi-Wan's. "Go slow, mate. Your body took quite a shock."

Obi-Wan squinted against the light. Dim as it was, it felt like knives. "Who are you?" he mumbled.

The man offered his palm. "I'm Miler Crata…" he said, withdrawing his hand when Obi-Wan didn't shake it. "I'm a—ah—lieutenant with the 301st."

"The 301st," Obi-Wan registered. "That's Saesee Tiin's legion."

"Yeah, that's right. Hell o'a pilot, that one. Though it scared me t'meet him. Horns an' all."

Obi-Wan nodded without attention. He leaned forward, struggling to sit.

Miler helped him but admonished: "Come on now. Don't push it too hard. I didn't have much bacta."

For the first time, Obi-Wan's muddled mind recalled the events on Grievous' ship. " _Padme_!" he croaked, shrugging off Miler's hand.

Miler grabbed his shoulders while the woman calmed him. "It's okay," she promised. "She's all right. She's resting in the next room."

Obi-Wan settled, heaving a sigh. The woman's soft, round face reminded him of his mother's.

"My name is Leona Voll. You're here in my apartment. And you're safe for the time being."

"She's an old friend'a my sister's," said Miler. "I was sent here t'do reconnaissance. My scout ship was shot down on the edge of Quiren City. I s'pose I was fortunate. With the Sith in control, no one but Leona would take in a Republic soldier."

Obi-Wan rubbed one temple. "Fortune is not random."

"What do you mean?"

"The Force brought us here for a reason."

"What reason's that?"

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed cryptically. "That remains to be seen." He braced his hands on his knees to push up to his feet. They steadied him when he swayed. "Can you take me to Padme, please?"

They led him down the hall to another room. It looked like a guest bedroom. The walls were bare but for mismatched art.

Padme lay on a bed, covered in blue sheets. His eyes were drawn to a gash below her hairline.

The mattress sank from his weight. He inspected her cut, which wasn't properly treated. He skimmed it with his finger, remembering something she said once. Her greatest fear was disfigurement. She'd seen her sister burned in a fire.

Without treatment, the wound was at major risk of infection.

"You're certain you've no bacta?" Obi-Wan asked Leona.

"No, I'm sorry. I cleaned the wound as best I could."

Obi-Wan smiled contritely. "We are both in your debt."

"I am no friend to the Sith. I only wish I could do more."

A familiar droid forced his way into the group. "R2!" Obi-Wan laughed. The droid shared his relief, reminding Obi-Wan why he never wiped his memory.

Miler said, "He took a beating, but he came through all right."

"How did you find us?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Your escape pod crashed not far from here. We heard the commotion, so I went to check it out. When I saw it was you, I knew I had t'help."

"You recognized me?"

"Of course. I see ya in briefings all the time. You're one of our greatest warriors, Gen'ral."

"Let's not stray into hyperbole," Obi-Wan replied, rising from the mattress. He looked down at Padme. "Is there a medical center around here, or a supply store?"

Leona shook her head. "If you're looking for bacta, you won't find any. The Sith are controlling its distribution."

"Surely something's slipped through the cracks," Obi-Wan pressed, "or was hidden away before the Sith took over."

Miler opened his mouth, but Leona cut him off: "Don't. It's not a good idea."

"If the Gen'ral requires it—"

"—You'll only get yourselves killed—"

"—Don't be dramatic. We'll just have to—"

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "May I inquire as to what you're bickering about?"

Miler ignored Leona's glare. "There are… unofficial channels on Sarna. You can find many things that aren't meant to be found."

"A black market?"

"Somethin' like that."

"Where do we find it?"

"In the corporate office of scum and outlaws," Miler smirked. "The cantina."

"Is it far?"

"Just a few blocks."

Leona's stony disapproval softened with concern. "These are bad people. They'll kill you without a second thought. And they can bring unwanted attention. I know you're worried about your friend, but this is a big risk."

Obi-Wan glanced off. Padme's peril was real; the gash needed treatment. But venturing into public could put _all_ of them in jeopardy. He looked down at Padme again. She was heartbreakingly peaceful.

His eyes set in determination. "We'll be careful."

"I should go alone," said Miler. "One'a the Sith might recognize ya."

"The common soldier won't know what I look like."

Miler sighed. "Ya should at leas' change. They've seen plenty'a Jedi robes."

Obi-Wan turned to a beeping R2. "Sorry, little one. You'll have to stay here." This didn't sit well with his companion. "I'll be fine, R2. Honestly, you make it sound like I can't put my boots on without you."

The droid left in a huff, like a teenaged Anakin.

Obi-Wan's stomach tightened at the thought of his apprentice. He forced the feeling into a tightly locked box to be dealt with later. He seemed to be doing a lot of that.

"Let's get to it," he told Miler.


	4. Bargain

Obi-Wan was out of place.

It was his first time on Sarna, and the cantina was rife with sundry cretins. He'd dressed to blend in, but he wore it like it burned. This matched his complexion, untypically ruddy.

The bar crowd was eclectic. Creatures of all shapes and creeds sat drinking at tables. Most were intermixed, while a few species formed circles in self-segregation. They whispered in dark corners and looked suspiciously at everyone.

"Jus' like I remember it," Miler smiled. His preternatural optimism heartened Obi-Wan.

"Been away for a while?"

"I haven't be'n here since I was a teenager."

Obi-Wan asked, "Your parents let you come here?"

Miler shook his head casually, eyes raking through the room. "Nae, my parents died when I was young. My sister an' I… found employment here."

Obi-Wan posited, "You were couriers, weren't you?"

"Aye. Weapons, spice, death sticks."

"You sold them their demise."

"They w're gonna die anyway," Miler shrugged. He pointed to an Ithorian alone at a corner table. "That's the man we're lookin' for."

"An Ithorian?" scoffed Obi-Wan. "That's unusual."

"Money's bad for yo'r conscience."

"I wouldn't know. Lead on, Lieutenant."

Miler guided him through the crowd of misfits. Some were phony tough guys, chests puffed out. Others were wolves in sheep's clothing. And still others were fools who just didn't know better.

At the Ithorian's table, Obi-Wan hung back while Miler brazenly took a seat.

"What do you think you're doing?" the Ithorian bellowed from his two mouths. "Have you no idea who I am?"

Miler grinned, leaning back. "Relax, Rondo. I wanna talk business."

The Ithorian squinted the eyes on either side of his t-shaped head. It took a few seconds, but when his memory triggered, he let out his species' equivalent of a laugh. "It's you! The Crata boy. I told you you'd be back."

Miler rolled his eyes. "I ain't lookin' for a gig, mate."

"Then what do you want?"

"Bacta."

"Bacta? You're wasting my time."

Obi-Wan stepped in, bracing his hands on the table. "We will, of course, pay handsomely."

Rondo did his best to appear disinterested. "How handsomely?"

"One vile. A thousand credits."

Miler coughed upon hearing the number. "Did ya say a thousand?" At Obi-Wan's glare, he quickly recovered: "Aye, that's right. One thousand. What'll it be, Rondo?"

They could see the gears turning in his eyes. Rondo wasn't sentimental, but Miler had never failed him. His current gaggle of sycophants was far less faithful. Rondo's eyelids pealed away—the smile of his people.

Out of the crowd emerged two male Twi'leks: one blue, the other green. Miler noted the expensive blasters holstered on their hips. Sharing a look with Obi-Wan, they moved back from the table.

"What do you want?" griped Rondo. "I'm in the middle of a transaction."

The Green Twi'lek smiled politely at Obi-Wan. "My sincerest apologies. This shall be quick, I assure you." Obi-Wan arched a brow but said nothing. He watched the Blue Twi'lek loom over Rondo.

"Neecho was not happy to learn you cheated him."

Rondo sobered. He'd long known the Twi'leks to work for themselves. "Neecho? Whatever he's paying you, I'm sure we can reach an agreement."

"Neecho is the brutal kind, but he always pays the wage he owes," the Green Twi'lek said. "I do not blame you. As I do not pity you. Greed is a fine god, but it kills its disciples."

The Blue Twi'lek pulled his gun, pressed it to the center of Rondo's head. Rondo's eyes crossed to look at the barrel. "Wait!" he cried.

The Force slowed time for Obi-Wan, so he watched in single frames the carnage unfolding. A cerulean bolt of light burrowed from the blaster into Rondo's skull. From the inside out, the Ithorian's head burst into segments. Miry hunks of flesh dispersed in the air. Thin loops of muscle, colored green by his blood, dripped languidly from his neck into his own lap. Half his face remained, jagged bone marking its edges.

The Green Twi'lek nudged Rondo backward. The dead Ithorian slid to the floor.

The crowd parted to allow the Twi'leks' exit. When the bounty hunters passed, everyone in the bar returned to their affairs. Not even the cantina employees fussed with the carcass.

"I think that went well," Obi-Wan deadpanned.

Miler marveled at the corpse. When he was a kid, the small-time gangster had appeared invincible. It was too sentimental to call Rondo a father, but Miler would have died if not for his recruitment. That had to count for something.

"Word'll pass to the Sith," Miler said.

Obi-Wan agreed, leading the way to the exit. He had a sinking feeling he'd let down Padme. This was their only good lead. He had to hope she'd persist without treatment. Now his focus was getting off-planet.

A Man sprang from the crowd, blocking their path.

"Excuse me," said Obi-Wan.

"Hey, hold on a sec! What's the hurry?"

Miler said dangerously, "Ya got one shot at movin'. Or I'll do it for ya."

The Man stared unfazed. His hair, lazily slicked back, wasn't recently washed. His schemer's smile didn't light his face, but rather cast it in shadow. The lines by his eyes seemed very well earned. "Oh, calm down, tough guy. I'm tryin' to help you out."

"Is that right?"

"I heard you talking to Rondo."

"And?" Obi-Wan asked patiently.

"And I'm ready to make a deal."

"You have bacta," Miler concluded.

"Close enough," the Man said.

"Either ya have it or ya don'."

The Man rolled his eyes. "Look, I hate to break it to you, jack, but Rondo didn't have any either."

"How do you know?" Obi-Wan demanded.

"Because _I'm_ the one who supplied him. With kolto."

Miler frowned. "Kolto's less strong. Smells worse, too."

"Yeah, well, beggars and choosers, right?"

The Man was constantly shifting. His half-buttoned shirt barely covered a blast scar. On his hip was a pistol, ten-years obsolete, seated loosely in a too-new holster.

It didn't take the Force to see him for what he was. But Obi-Wan knew it was Padme's last chance. "All right," he said carefully. "How much?"

The Man's voice was hushed, forcing the two fugitives to bend toward his mouth. "I don't want your money."

"What do you want?"

"I have incentive to get off this rock. And I need help doin' it."

"You don't have a ship?"

"No. Not like it would matter, though. Only Sith have clearance."

Miler demanded, "Then how exac'ly are ya plannin' t'leave?"

The Man smiled surreptitiously. "We'll talk about that while we get your kolto."

Obi-Wan couldn't penetrate The Man's mental artifice, for he was trained to avoid readings. Breaching his barrier required force that could kill him.

"Very well," said Obi-Wan. "But we'll not be marks in a foolish scheme."

The Man replied innocently, "This ain't a scheme, and I ain't a fool."

"There's still plenty of hours in the day," quipped Miler, following them out of the cantina.


	5. Below

The warehouse wasn't far, but their true destination was several stories below ground. He led them into an old mine shaft, where the last ore had been plundered centuries back.

They crawled one after another through a man-shaped opening to the mine's lowest depths. The Man's flashlight made visible the metal shell that outlined the tunnel. He walked to the rock-face, flipping a switch. Long rows of light bulbs struggled awake throughout the mine.

Miler dusted his pants. "Any reason we had t'journey to the center of the planet?"

"Because Rondo would never look here," The Man said. "Most people don't know it exists." He nodded left, leading them down the tunnel.

Mind wandering, Obi-Wan considered his request to be recused from the mission, along with Yoda's reaction. The grand master often preached about the dangers of attachment. Younglings were drilled until total submission. His indifference with Obi-Wan was completely confounding.

Qui-Gon had often said Obi-Wan was a son. He balked at his pupil's warnings that attachments were dangerous. While Obi-Wan said the right things, and completed his duties, he couldn't help wondering if Qui-Gon's teachings corrupted him. He was far too warm to be a classical Jedi. Obi-Wan was mystified Yoda didn't see it.

"You have a name?" Miler asked.

"Yeah. Do you?"

"Aye."

"Let me guess: Accent McKid?"

"I've known people like you," Miler said. "They weren't as clever as they believed."

"Kid, I will bash—"

Obi-Wan interjected, "Gentlemen, let's maintain some pretense of civility, shall we?"

"Whatever you say, boss," The Man replied. He stopped at a metal cabinet, pulling the handle. Inside were two man-sized kolto tanks. The translucent solution bubbled in places but was otherwise calm. "This good enough?"

"Oh, I think it should suffice."

The Man shut the cabinet, turning to lean on it. "All right then. Let's talk about your end."

"I'm listening," said Obi-Wan.

"Only one ticket outta town: a Sith ship with the right code."

"Why do you need a Sith ship? Won't the code be enough?"

"They've been burned too often. Civilian ships are boarded and inspected. But if you have a Sith ship, it's clear sailing. No questions asked."

"Okay," said Obi-Wan. "You need a Sith ship. How do you plan to get it?"

"I've got a way into the military compound."

"Do tell."

"We're right beneath it," The Man said. "There's an old service shaft leading to the main computer room."

"So what's the problem?"

"The top of the service shaft is solid ferrofrete."

Miler rolled his eyes. "This sounds brilliant so far."

"Put a leash on the gizka, would you?" The Man asked Obi-Wan. "Look, the point is: I can get through with an IED. But they tend to notice explosions."

Obi-Wan said, "You want a distraction."

"That'd have t'be _some_ distraction," Miler mused.

The Man chose his words carefully: "It just so happens I… _acquired_ an airspeeder."

"'Acquired,'" Miler said. "Is that what they call it?"

"I don't know what you're insinuating, but I'm sure I'm insulted by it."

Obi-Wan interjected, "This speeder: what use is it?"

"You rig it up with some explosives," The Man said, "and put it on auto-pilot. It collides with the compound, and _bang_! You've got yourself an entrance."

"That's a bit blunt," Obi-Wan remarked.

"Yeah, well, it'll get the job done. You guys run in, keep security busy, and I infiltrate from here. The main hanger isn't far from the mainframe, so if you do your job, I should be able to make it."

Miler chortled. " _That's_ your plan? 'Hey, mates, take on an army and I'll slip out.'"

"I'm must concur," said Obi-Wan. "We'll not be lambs for your slaughter."

The Man gasped in mock-offense. "Lambs? Who's askin' for lambs? You're two virile fellas in the prime of your life! Are you sayin' you can't handle a few clumsy guards?"

"I'm saying that any plan where we assume all the risk is unacceptable."

"Fine. You have a better idea?"

"Not yet," said Obi-Wan, "but it won't take much work."

"Then put your credits where your mouth is, jack. You show me something better and that's how we'll roll."

Obi-Wan noted Miler's head-shake. It was rightful skepticism. But one thing was clear: the Man was motivated to leave Sarna. And in their present predicament, that had to suffice.

"All right," said Obi-Wan "You give me two vials of kolto and we'll go back to our safe house. We can make a plan from there."

The Man asked innocently, "You got any girls there?"

* * *

Leona glared at Miler. Her normally high voice was full of gravel. "Just what do you think you're doing? You come back here after five hours! And you bring the cantina riffraff!"

"Leona—"

"Don't say anything, Miler. You'll only make it worse." She sighed harshly, looking bone-tired and drawn. "Miler, I'm more than happy to aid you. And to help General Kenobi. But I've got my own life to—"

The Man gasped. "Woh, woh, woh! Hold on a second. You're _Kenobi_? I'm working with a damn _Jedi_? Were you gonna share that fun fact or wait 'til the second date?"

"Does it change your need?" Obi-Wan asked.

The Man glowered. He worked his jaw before grunting. "Whatever, boss. You just better hold up your end."

Still wilting from Leona's gaze, Miler stepped between them. "Let's… get this kolto t'your friend, yeah?"

Obi-Wan felt culpable for Leona's anger. But friendships are resilient; hers and Miler's would endure.

Miler led them to the bedroom. To their collective surprise, Padme was seated on the edge of the bed. She appeared tired and confused. The cut on her head looked harsher in the light. With great effort, she focused on the three men. One was unmistakable.

Padme shot to her feet, taking a wobbly step before Obi-Wan caught her. He only meant to help her balance, but Padme melted into him, wrapping him loosely in her arms.

"What's happening? Where are we?" she mumbled against his shirt.

The heavy warmth of her head unwound a rogue feeling that he'd tried to keep spooled. He allowed one long breath before pulling back to arm's length. He was heartened that her eyes were beginning to clear.

Padme took in his clothes, comically unsuitable. "Where did you go?"

The Man interceded with a predatory grin: "Darlin', he needed a suave man of action to come to your rescue."

"But instead we found him," Miler said.

Padme looked between them, before frowning at Obi-Wan.

He said, "It's quite a long story." A stern look at Miler and The Man purge them from the room. Theirs and Leona's voices faded then vanished.

Padme demanded, "What's happened, Obi-Wan?"

His eyes flashed to her head. He took her arm and led her to the bed. "Here, sit down."

Padme complied, watching him closely. She tracked his eyes to her forehead, reaching her hand. Obi-Wan caught her wrist, tugging it away.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's—"

"You were hurt in the crash. Just try to relax. I'm going to take care of you." He pulled a vial from his belt, applying kolto to his fingertips. He grazed it over the gash, taking care not to hurt her.

Padme pictured the wound and wondered if it would scar. She imagined herself applying makeup to hide it every morning.

Obi-Wan watched her out of the corner of his eye. "I was worried about infection, but this will stop it," he said quietly. "Your pupils look good. I don't believe you've been concussed." Her distant look registered. "I doubt it will leave a scar."

It was at once embarrassing and comforting that he knew what she was thinking. There was no teasing in his voice. It was a hallmark of their friendship that he knew what to say and when.

He placed the bandage on the gash, softly apologizing when she winced. Pressing down on the edges, he secured the adhesive.

Padme looked up, surprised to find their faces so close. They stared in each other's eyes: searching, feeling, fearing. The long-hardened barrier between friendship and other, duty and not-duty, felt momentarily malleable. Possibilities existed that they knew should never be. Their gravity was strong. It would be so easy.

Obi-Wan snapped his eyes down. He pulled back and cleared his throat.

"Thank you," she said, though it sounded like an afterthought. She began to piece together their situation. "That man: you made a deal for the medicine."

"He wants off the planet, same as us. We've agreed to work together."

Padme looked at him chidingly. "Great. So what is he: a drug dealer, a slave trader, or a murderer?"

"They aren't mutually exclusive," Obi-Wan deadpanned.

Padme fixed him with a glare, but it only made him smile.

The door opened to R2 beeping grievances.

"What? I wasn't gone _that_ long," Obi-Wan said. R2 disagreed. "Yes, I know your circuits keep a perfect account of time. I'm just saying that—" The droid whined persnicketyly.

Obi-Wan asked Padme, "Do you hear the way he talks to me?"

"You'll live. And anyway, I suspect he has a point. What did you get yourself into? What happens now?"

Obi-Wan sighed. What ludicrous faith that she thought he knew.


	6. Schemes

"It's nae our business."

The Man propped his feet up. "Lighten up, kid, would you? I'm just sayin' he's got the hots for her. So do I. And unless you're into guys, I'm bettin' you do too."

"She's not a trophy," growled Miler, "so shut your bloody mouth."

"Kid, don't make a bet your ass can't cover."

"I don' make bets. I make guarantees."

The Man scoffed, "You Republic types: cockier than god. In case you have noticed, the Sith are winning the war."

Miler flared his nostrils. "Ya can spit in my grave. But you'll always be a coward."

The Man shot up from his chair. It toppled on its side. Miler was moving toward him. As quickly as it ignited, the confrontation was over. The door had opened, and Obi-Wan entered, followed by Padme and R2. Miler could hardly throw a punch in front of the general.

The Man retreated to his chair, setting it upright. He slunk into it scowling.

Miler cleared his throat. "Hello, ma'am. Are ya feelin' well now?"

Padme smiled thinly. "Fine, thank you... Lieutenant, is it?"

"Lieutenant Crata. Miler Crata. It's my pleasure t'meet ya, Senator."

"Likewise. I'll remember you in my report."

Miler ducked his head, reminding her of Obi-Wan. The smooth plain of his forehead belied oldness in his eyes. The crystal blues were like scars, scars on top of scars. In Padme's experience, those who enjoyed praise developed an addiction. They'd do anything to receive it, and lacked self-awareness to be haunted by anything. She knew right away he didn't like accolades.

Obi-Wan retrieved a projector. The Man handed him a disc, which he carefully inserted. The projector sputtered a few moments before flickering to life. It showed a holographic blueprint of the Sith compound.

The Man studied it closely. "Yeah, that looks right. That's everything. Or, most of it."

" _Most_ of it?" asked Padme.

"The disc was damaged. I took it from a corpse."

"Charming," Miler mumbled.

Obi-Wan pinpointed the missing pieces. He gestured to a black spot. "The armory should be there."

The Man raised his eyebrow. "Your hocus pocus tell you that?"

"Every compound has the same layout," Obi-Wan explained. "Sidious is nothing if not efficient."

The Man gestured to four large structures, distorting the light with his hand. "The ship bays are right here. They're guarded around the clock by two troopers each. But they'll abandon their posts when they hear the alarms."

"Are they really that stupid?" Miler asked.

Padme said, "It's a small compound on the Outer Rim. I don't imagine the Sith Academy sent their 'A' students."

Miler smiled slightly. Padme wasn't what he expected. He'd heard her speeches: formal and stilted. But now he saw why Obi-Wan, who hated politicians, made an exception for Padme.

"That may be," said Obi-Wan, "but we can't take the chance. We have to plan on them being guarded."

"It's a waste of time!" The Man groused. "Boss, this ain't my first dance. I know what I'm doing."

"Perhaps you've merely been lucky. Survival and judgment are two different things."

The Man scowled. Jedi were _insufferable_. "Is that a fact?"

Obi-Wan tried not to smile. He walked to the far wall, folding his arms. "Well," he said diplomatically, "we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's just iron out the basics."

Miler studied an entry point. It was a gated security station for authorized landcraft. "What abou' here? We could doctor some credentials."

"It's more subtle than _his_ plan," Obi-Wan said. "If we could find a way—"

Earsplitting sirens blasted through the apartment from the streets outside. Soon this was paired with the screams of the living. Obi-Wan rushed to the window, ripping away the blinds. The lamp posts in the streets were flashing dark-red. Quiren City's elite were pouring from their homes. Everyone melded into one frantic mass.

Miler knew the sound. "It's an air raid! Automated warning—we're under attack!" He turned to the hallway. "Leona! Leona!"

She appeared at the door, shaking violently. "Miler, what's happening? Why is the siren going? They're not—they wouldn't—"

Miler grabbed her shoulders. "They would! Pull yourself together if ya don' wanna die."

"But—"

"Gather what ya can. One small bag. We have t'leave now!"

Dazed as she was, she gave him a nod. Miler ran through the hallway to the living room. He grabbed his blaster from the table.

Padme rushed after him, trying to block to his path. "Why now? The Sith have control of the whole planet! Why would they destroy it?"

Miler stepped around her, holstering his gun. He pulled back the curtains, peered through the window. He felt a chill down his spine at the scene outside. A young child fell and was trampled by a woman. The woman hurried on, heels stained with his blood.

Obi-Wan grabbed his arm. "Can we go underground?"

"We'd be trapped like rats," said Miler. "Our only chance is in the air."

The Man said, "This doesn't change anything. It makes it easier. With the shit storm coming, they'll evacuate the base."

"Aye, he's right," allowed Miler. "It's still our best chance."

Leona appeared, a satchel on her shoulder. Her trembling hands fumbled with the latch. Miler pried off her fingers and closed it for her.

She watched as her world embraced degradation. We think we're civilized; we think people are mostly good. But you strip away safety, place survival at stake, and suddenly we're as selfish as our farthest ancestors.

"How long do we have?" Obi-Wan asked.

Miler shook his head. "Thirty seconds? An hour? No way'a knowin'."

"We won't make it on foot. We need transportation."

The Man said, "That won't be easy with the crazies."

Obi-Wan reached for his boot, where he'd hidden his saber. "We'll do what we have to."

The cold tone startled Padme. Sometimes she forgot her friend was in a war. One he'd been waging for most of his life.

She watched the door slide open, caught a glimpse of the dying world over Miler's shoulder.

"C'mon," said Miler. "Before we catch fire."


	7. Pandemonium

People respond differently to the end of the world.

Many Sarnans were headed for a ship. Others sought safety underground. Some were looting, smashing store windows for trinkets and luxuries. The majority of families stayed true to each other, parents protecting their children to the death, while most individuals were out for themselves.

The Sith bombardment had yet to begin. But Quiren City was already burning. Vehicles crashed. Anarchists destroyed. Blasters were fired over limited resources. This cacophonous chaos drowned out the sirens.

"It's coming!" screamed an old drifter. "The end is coming, as I foretold!" He grabbed at Obi-Wan, who shook him away. "It's the _end of days_! Your wretched lives are over! Your unbelief—"

The Man threw a right cross, knocking him out. "Try gettin' dirty," he sneered at Obi-Wan.

The Jedi Master led his group through the fracas. The dead and injured littered their path.

They bumped and were bumped by desperate Sarnans. Leona, being large, kept her course well. Padme's slighter frame faltered, forcing Obi-Wan to hold her. Even as the world burned, it brought her solace.

In the heart of the city, the sirens were deafening. Obi-Wan's group was splintered by the mob.

Only Miler had his bearings. He saw a Bith restaurant from when he was a kid. The building next to it was a government office.

"Up there!" Miler shouted. "We'll fin'a speeder in the garage!"

Obi-Wan pushed through the crowd, clearing a path. But fear. Fear. _Fear_. **_Fear_**. It pulsed in his wrist: a second heartbeat. He'd shielded himself as long as he could. But now he felt people's terror: osmosis of the Force. He was sinking in the muck of a million voices.

A hulking Trandoshan pushed Padme aside. Obi-Wan grabbed him by the jacket, threw him to the ground. In his mind's eye, he could see himself cut the man's throat. The first whisper of the Dark Side crawled into his ears.

"Look out!" screamed Miler.

Obi-Wan blinked. Sith troopers and droids moved through the crowd. Repeating blasters unleashed, slaughtering indiscriminately. Men, women, and children screamed and convulsed, before falling in heaps as smoking corpses.

Miler's eyes snapped to Leona. Her vital organs were scattered in the street. Trampling feet smashed them to pieces. Miler scrambled on all fours, checking futilely for a pulse. He screamed in anguish, falling to his rear.

Obi-Wan hardened. His saber flashed on. He flipped over a gunman; at the point of inversion, he drove his blade top-to-bottom through the trooper's skull. He landed, whirled, and cut through a droid.

He positioned himself between the Sith and the crowd. He deflected every shot in his general direction.

The lead trooper cried, "It's a Jedi! Kill him!"

Their entire might turned on Obi-Wan. His movements quickened. His blade was a blur. He killed trooper after trooper by reflecting their own fire.

The Man appeared, shooting a droid between the eyes. Its cranium snapped off, clattering to the ground.

Obi-Wan bounded forward, blocking shots in mid-air before completing a full spin and cutting a Sith hip to shoulder. The two halves slid apart while he slayed the next trooper.

The Man gunned down two droids while another trooper attacked Obi-Wan. The Jedi cut his blaster, taking part of the hand with it. Then he speared him through the heart. He kicked him in the chest to dislodge his blade.

Two more: behind and in front. Obi-Wan dropped, sweeping their ankles. They crashed to the ground, breathless from impact. He controlled their minds so they aimed at each other. They screamed, died, perfectly in sync.

"Gen'ral!" Obi-Wan looked down, finding a red dot at the center of his chest. He heard a beast-like growl—his own?—and slammed on his back. White-hot pain surged through his body. Blood, and burns. The Force was gone. He had only five senses, each conspiring to bring him misery.

A trooper appeared over him, wearing a grin. Now the red dot was on his forehead.

Suddenly the trooper cried out, back arching, as a silver lightsaber burst from his chest. He clawed at the blade, succeeding only in losing his hands. The saber withdrew, and the trooper fell.

Obi-Wan met the bright eyes of Master Eisley Pathij. Confirming he lived, she returned to the fight.

Meanwhile, Miler and the Man unloaded on the droids. Padme, too, took up a blaster. She fired poorly, but her vigor didn't lack.

Where was Obi-Wan? Her heart skipped when she found him. He was splayed on the ground, utterly helpless. Padme dashed through the firefight, head kept low, before dropping to his side. Her hands darted from his stomach to face. The wound was severe. Possibly deadly.

"You're okay," lied Padme.

He gestured weakly behind her. Padme whirled to find a trooper training his gun.

The Man tackled him from the side. They exchanged a few punches before The Man grabbed the blaster. He pistol-whipped the trooper until he was dead.

Eisley cut down the last droid, ending the battle. She hurried to Obi-Wan, taking his other side. "Master Kenobi, can you manage? We have to keep moving."

"He needs a doctor!" cried Padme.

Obi-Wan's voice was raspy and thin. "No... I'm okay..."

"See, darlin'? He's fine," The Man drawled. "Give me a hand, kid."

Obi-Wan screamed as they lifted him. "Sorry, Gen'ral," Miler lamented. The Jedi's hands were balled tightly. He pressed his tongue to his palate to keep from biting it. Something soft, something wet, caressed his face. It was Padme's palm, sticky with his blood.

The Man said, "Get movin', boss. Or we'll all be dead."


	8. Stagger

Miler scoured the garage in search of a vehicle. Most were too small. Anger over Leona animated the pilot. "C'mon!" he growled, smacking the speeds roofs. "There's got to be one!"

"There!" said Eisley.

It was a family airspeeder: beat up but sturdy. Miler climbed in, leaning under the console. He pried open the panel and tore out some wires. He sparked the copper from two green and red ligatures. The speeder came to life. The computer lit blue.

"How about that," The Man smirked.

"Picked it up—"

"On the mean streets?"

"The academy."

"Imagine that."

Obi-Wan screamed as they lifted him inside. Padme pushed some hair from his face, touching their foreheads. Even sweaty and bloody, his scent was comforting. Seldom had the two shared such closeness.

When everyone was in place, Miler told Padme: "Brave heart, ma'am. We'll be all right."

"That's a hell of a claim, Lieutenant."

Miler forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's like the Gen'ral says: fortune isn't random." He took the controls. The speeder lifted before lurching back. Then spinning around, it shot through the garage.

* * *

Things had quieted on the ground. The civilian slaughter was in its last throes. The survivors had taken refuge; save a few stragglers, only the dead filled the streets.

The air was chaotic. Speeders soared drunkenly to unchosen points. They swiped and collided, falling from the sky. Screams echoed from plummeting fireballs. Miler cut through the madness expertly.

Each dive and jerk heightened Obi-Wan's pain. Jagged breaths spilled from his mouth. His mind wandered as he tried to stay awake. He pictured the dead, here and on other worlds, now and tomorrow and millennia past. He was a cog in the machine, like trillions before him.

"Hold on!" Miler shouted.

* * *

The Man's eyes cracked open. All around was the stench of death: burnt flesh coupled with super-heated metal.

A blurred figure appeared over him wielding a blaster. The Man rolled his head to find rubble and wreckage. He hissed as a boot pressed on his chest.

"Answer the question!" the trooper snarled. The Man grunted, seeing Eisley and Padme in a motionless heap. "Which one of you is Kenobi? Tell me now!"

The Man would've answered, but he saw motion behind the trooper. He grinned, rasping, " _I_ am. Wanna see a trick?"

Obi-Wan grabbed the trooper. Spinning him around, he smashed his face with a blaster. The trooper crumpled at his feet.

The barely lucid Jedi tossed the blaster aside. He mumbled "uncivilized" before dropping to his knees.

Miler began to stir, looking at the speeder. It was a swirl of smoke and fire, lodged between two concrete slabs that had formed the post of an archway.

A grim whine drifted to his ears. At first, it sounded like the air raid sirens. But as he peered into the distance, he found a wall of bright orange swallowing the sky.

Obi-Wan forced himself up. He looked at Eisley, finding her head badly swollen. Behind her was R2, circuits protruding from every orifice. The Jedi faced the inferno as it blasted out in every direction.

"I could've been a farmer," Obi-Wan mumbled.


	9. Radiation

Alarms sounded off. A skeleton crew of Sith troopers rushed to evacuate.

The base's durasteel walls were built to bear anything. But they quickly strained from the orbital bombardment. Entire sections of the floor were stripped or crushed, revealing the chasm between the base and the mine.

Obi-Wan staggered forward, leaving bloody bootprints. Miler pulled R2 by one loose wire. Padme struggled with the weight of Eisley.

The Man led the way, blaster ready. Two troopers rushed in from another corridor. Only after he killed them did The Man see they weren't armed. Feeling the floor shudder, he glared at Obi-Wan. "Get a move on, boss! You're slowing us down!"

A ceiling panel unhinged, smashing the floor. Obi-Wan grabbed for the wall. His forehead crinkled with pain and frustration. This wasn't working. _This wouldn't work_. His pitiless eyes filled with resolve.

"He's right," said Obi-Wan. "You'll never make it with me."

"Y'can stop right there, Gen'ral!" Miler fired back. "We ain't leavin' ya—"

"I don't plan on dying. I'll take the shortcut through the maintenance shaft and meet you up there."

The Man's eyes widened. "The _maintenance shaft_? Are you crazy, Kenobi?! You won't last a minute in that radiation!"

"What's he talking about?" Padme demanded.

The wall behind them exploded, throwing The Man to the ground. He rolled away from the rubble as it caught on fire. Miler pulled him to his feet. "We're out of time!" shouted Obi-Wan. "Get to a ship! Wait for me as long as you can, but if I'm not there…"

He threw a look at Miler, who took its meaning. He grabbed Padme's shoulders. He stared into her eyes. They were comforting, tumultuous, pure like the Force. He touched her cheek and stepped back. Padme blinked away tears.

"You're out of your mind," The Man said.

Not out of my mind, thought Obi-Wan. Out of time. Out of blood.

"Good luck," he said.

* * *

She remembered the day she met Obi-Wan. She was a queen of fifteen. He was twenty-one. He'd been overly respectful to a certain pretender.

They sent him to broker peace between squabbling provinces. In the end, he secured a treaty that prevented succession. Out of this act, his legend was born: "The Negotiator."

He was so very young, unbearded and impish. She held his image while she dragged Eisley's dead weight.

"Ha ha!" The Man's laugh startled her.

He'd hooked into a security panel. Now he grinned at them smugly. "Looks like Bay 3 has two ships. It should be—" A blue blaster bolt whizzed by his head.

Miler fumbled for a weapon, finding he had none. He grabbed Padme and Eisley and dropped to the ground.

The Man looked for cover. Finding none, he returned fire. He saw three troopers peering out from parallel corners. The advantage was theirs. The Man's barrage missed badly. "Hey, kid! Little help here!"

His hand jerked back. His gun went flying. It took a moment to realize he'd been hit. Then came the pain. He stared in shock at his mangled palm.

Miler rolled to the Man's side. He took up the dropped blaster. As a trooper peeked out, Miler shot him in the chest, opening a smoking hole in the trooper's armor. The Man cradled red tissue where there should have been skin.

"I'll hold 'em off!" cried Miler. "Save Amidala!"

The Man gritted his teeth, crawling to Padme.

* * *

Obi-Wan's eyes were slits in the shaft's burning light.

He soldiered on through his futile undertaking. His body was being flooded with thermal radiation. His Force shield could only block so much. The maintenance shaft wasn't meant for the living. This was the domain of droids and death.

His mind was an amalgam of memories, half-formed images, and he confused them for the present. Only instinct urged him on, palm after palm, knee after knee, in the choppy rhythm of a misplayed march.

He thought of Anakin—of his last words. Was it so long ago? Had that time become ancient?

" _This is madness! Are you really that vain?"  
_

 _Anakin's lips twisted in a snarl._ " _Shut your mouth, y_ _ou sanctimonious bastard! You've held me back long enough. For ten years, I've suffered your jealousy. I'm not going to let you blame me for becoming what you couldn't."_

 _Obi-Wan's shoulders rolled forward. His fire was gone. In its place was his failure._ " _Anakin, the Sith are_ evil _," he said quietly. "You're at the precipice of what can't be undone. If you leave here, there can be no redemption. There will be nothing and no one to guide you to the light."_

 _His padawan hardened._ " _From my point of view, the Jedi are evil."_

_Obi-Wan looked past him at Coruscant, dirty in moonlight. He ran his tongue along his lips, fighting back tears._

" _Then, I suppose," he said, "that you're already lost."_

It was difficult to breathe. He could feel each rad penetrate his body. He could feel his blood rapidly poisoning.

Padme was a beautiful woman. Physically. Sometimes he didn't notice. He was too busy noticing other things about her. And to what, to whom, was he in debt for her light?

He was so tired. The ground was warm. Perhaps he was on a beach, and if he lay down, he'd eventually wake.

And perhaps he wouldn't.

He shut his eyes.


	10. Lesions

The building rocked savagely, hanging on by a thread to its damaged foundation. A dream-like haze of smoke and fire foam filled the ruined corridors. Dangling cables sprayed sparks in their faces.

Behind them, barely audible, the whine of blasters persisted. Maybe it was Miler, or maybe he was dead and the Sith had moved on.

The Man staggered to the bay door, linking his hacking unit to the security panel. Cursing R2's destruction (this was a droid's job), he braced the unit on his forearm so he could type with his good hand. He almost had it when he heard an explosion.

Massive chunks of the ceiling fell toward Padme.

The Man pulled her from the path of sure death. Ferroconcrete and cable pounded the floor where they'd stood. Smoke and dust kicked up in their faces.

The Man sucked tainted air, sitting against the door. He found Padme and Eisley through half-open eyes. He thought they were breathing, but it might be a mirage. He looked at his hand, frozen in claw-shape.

" _Do you have anything to say in your defense?"_

_The Man stared with feigned interest at his durasteel shackles. "Would it matter if I did?"_

" _It is your right," the judge said, "to speak before your judgment."_

 _The Man's thin-lipped smile resembled a droid's._ " _I ain't ever taken more than I was due. I ain't ever done anything that can't be undone. And I've never told a lie I'd be ashamed to tell my son." He paused, staring past the judge, before tightly swallowing. "But if you add that together and you see something I don't, then so be it."_

_The Man glanced at a woman, who regarded him sadly. He tracked her eyes to her swollen belly._

The man coughed violently. "Get up," he told Padme.

* * *

The heat was comforting at first, like walking into a warm house. But in its lingering was pain. It sapped his strength like Tattooine's suns.

He was nauseous. Why? Was it because of where he was? Surrounded by scorching metal? Was that the reason he couldn't breathe?

It's so strange being human.

There's skin and bone, tissue and cells, and through great struggle the body endures, allowing our minds their higher thoughts. For all our frailty, we rarely think of our physical selves; instead, we search and grasp to explain the unexplained and to connect with others, in body and mind to mind, and most hold this function as our reason for being.

He lifted his head, bracing on the metal. Wherever he was, he didn't belong there.

* * *

One of the ships was in flames. The stench of burnt fuel wafted through the bay.

The other ship, a medical transport, was still intact. It was linked by a catwalk to the docking bay entrance. There was a large beam, half-burning, in front of the ship's main hatch. The Man leapt over it, began hacking the door panel in one fluid motion.

The ramp lowered down. He scooped Eisley in his arms and entered the ship.

Padme scaled the beam and followed him inside. She took stock of the transport. At the back were four bacta tanks and an operating table. Near the front were two benches that could seat twenty people. That's where the Man dumped Eisley before taking the pilot's seat.

He pulled on a headset, beginning pre-flight procedures.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Making sure this thing flies."

"We're waiting for them!"

"Settle down, lady," The Man shot back. "We need to be ready when they get there. Or would you rather I played Sabacc?"

Padme scowled, returning to the cabin. She checked on Eisley, who was still unconscious.

Her thoughts went to Obi-Wan. His incessant heroism was as infuriating as admirable. Every act of bravery could be the last one. Someday, luck or the Force wouldn't answer the bell. Padme's eyes filled with tears, knowing the day might've come.

"Hurry up," she whispered.

* * *

The walls were all scarred. But Miler was unscathed. He dodged their blasters like a user of the Force.

"We don't have time for this!" The lead trooper leapt out of cover. Miler fired, putting a fist-sized hole in the trooper's forehead. Red and gray matter exploded in the air

The remaining troopers took aim. Miler squeezed the trigger, but not fast enough. They shot the barrel off his blaster, leaving him defenseless.

He knew it was over now. But he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of showing his fear. Miler snarled defiantly, staring into their eyes.

A hatch fell from above, knocking one trooper down. Obi-Wan dropped from the ceiling, saber ignited. He slashed the first trooper—and took the second man's head—before collapsing on his side.

Miler stared in awe before his eyes blinked clear. He hurried to Obi-Wan, turning him over. He nearly vomited at the sight. The red imprint of the tunnel seared Obi-Wan's face. His arms were covered in red-black lesions. At least half his attire had melted away.

All the bacta in the world couldn't put him back to together.

* * *

" _I can't have you around him," she said through the bars. "I can't have him knowing what you did. Where he came from."_

 _The Man didn't look at her. His head, propped on an elbow, was angled at the floor._ " _Well, I guess that's up to you."_

_The woman's eyes flashed. "Do you even care? Does it matter to you? You owe us more than this!"_

_He smiled sardonically._ " _No one's owed for anything. Not a one. You can be mad as you want, and you can look for a reason. Go ask the dust, or the blackness of space. See a psychic or meditate. But you'll never know why. Because there_ is _no 'why.'" He shut his eyes and leaned back. "There is no 'why,'" he whispered._

The sonic boom of torpedoes preceded columns of flames. The ship rocked to one side, ripped from the docking clamps. The Man watched with dread as the bay ceiling caved in. The combusted rubble was almost blinding.

"Okay, that's it!" growled the Man. "Kenobi and the kid have thirty seconds!"

"We're not leaving without him!" Padme fired back.

" _Him_?"

" _Them_! So you just sit there and stay ready!"

"Listen here, _Princess:_ I'm not gonna die 'cause you swoon for the Jedi! So why don't you shut your mouth for once in your life? Is that even possible?"

Padme's eyes were molten iron. "If you leave here without them, I'll kill you myself."

* * *

Obi-Wan was slung on Miler's shoulders. Barely conscious, still vaguely aware. He dragged R2 by a red wire extruding from the dome. Miler struggled with their weight but marched on dutifully.

"Leave me," Obi-Wan mumbled.

"Afrai'not, Gen'ral."

* * *

Torpedoes rained down, destroying everything in sight. The bay opened to a sky of red-orange death. The ship grinded against the girders holding it up. Inching forward, it was ready to plummet.

"Time's up!" The Man yelled. "Strap yourself in!"

"Just wait! They'll be here!"

"We wait any longer and there won't _be_ a here, sweetheart!"

"Just one more minute!"

He started the launch sequence. Lights flashed on around him.

Padme grabbed his arm: "Stop! Please, stop!"

He shrugged her off like a child. The thrusters roared on.

Across the bay, one of the collapsed sections exploded, sending fragments flying. A massive steel rod shot at the cockpit window. Changing angles at the last moment, it bounced across the roof.

Soon the fire surrounded them. Padme shut her teary eyes.

For a long moment—nothing. Then the sloppy clatter of boots on steel.

Miler climbed the ramp, dumping Obi-Wan on the floor. Then he turned back to drag R2 on board. Dropping to his knees, he slammed his fist on a panel, and the hatch clicked shut.

"Let's go!" he shouted.

The ship lifted from the ground, but it was engulfed by flames. The windows flashed bright orange, ready to shatter. The cabin air was too heated to breathe.

With his last held breath, the Man tugged on the flight stick. The ship ascended from the bay, and out of the fire it snapped through the sky.

The Man dodged debris and torpedoes from orbit. Meanwhile, Padme and Miler placed the Jedi in bacta tanks.

The ship soared into the stratosphere, skimming along peril before entering the black of space.

Miler's stomach clenched. After all this effort, it could still unravel. The Sith fleet surrounded them in every direction. This ship was a moth, and moths burn easily. The Man was typing the Sith code into the main computer.

Miler slid into the co-pilot's chair. "What if it's wrong?"

"Relax, kid. I don't make mistakes. At least not with my life."

" _Relax, kid. I ain't the constable. You wanna drink juma, then be my guest."_

_The boy scowled, taking a long swig. His_ _messy brown hair, starkly different from the Man's slicked locks, destroyed any illusion he was old enough to drink. His eyes were at once burning and dull._

_The Man said, "You should be careful in a place like this. People could take advantage."_

" _Like you?" the boy snarled._

" _Me? I'm the only one here who's not gonna rob you."_

" _Yeah. Whatever."_

" _Hey, I'm trying to help you out. But if you're a tough guy, I'll just leave you to it. I'm sure you know what you're doing."_

 _The boy glowered, taking another swig. He looked scared and lost, and that nearly meant something._ _The Man softened, and asked,_ " _What's your name, kid?"_

" _My name is_ _Han."_

A voice crackled from the radio: "S8-71, you are cleared to join the fleet."

Miler watched incredulously as the ship flew unassailed through the heart of the Sith fleet. After a long pause, he cackled deliriously. "It worked!" he cried. "I don' believe it. It re'lly worked."

The Man stared ahead before finally shrugging. "Just how I planned it."

Miler laughed again, louder. He startled The Man by clapping his shoulder. It took a moment, then The Man laughed, too.

They looked up to find Padme's sullen expression. She leaned between them to look out the window. "We need to return to Coruscant."

Miler frowned. "Are ya sure that's wise? Dantooine's closer."

"Obi-Wan's badly hurt. He needs our best doctors."

The Man worked the controls. "Whatever you say, lady. Anywhere but here."

Padme left the cockpit but paused near the cabin. Turning back, she asked: "What's your name?"

The Man met her stare with inscrutable eyes. "Landon Solo."

Padme nodded, equally obtuse, before walking to the back. She checked the settings on the tanks, finding everything in order.

Padme stared as Obi-Wan floated, face hidden by a breath mask. She realized then, maybe for the first time, that she'd do absolutely anything to see that he endured. To see that he was cared for. If it were truly possible to take his pain as her own, to bear his lesions without and within, she would suffer it all gladly in this life and the next.

What do you call that feeling?

* * *

Grievous flickered in the holo-viewer, voice distorted by static. "The planet is rubble. And we crushed the Republic fleet."

Three cloaked figures surrounded the viewer. One stood forward, restless and demanding. Beneath his black hood, he snarled at the droid-man: "Tell me who survived."

"Two cruisers escaped," Grievous admitted. "We took prisoners from another. The rest were destroyed."

The demanding one pressed: "What of Senator Amidala?"

Behind him, Sidious and Dooku exchanged a look.

For a moment, the light flickered. The connection seemed frozen. But it was only a silence, as Grievous struggled to choose the right words. "There was an incident."

Vader's flinty eyes narrowed to a point. "What kind of incident?"

"It was General Kenobi. Your Sith could not stop him from taking her."

The specter of rage burned in Vader. Across the room, he tore a door from its hinges. It bent in half and slammed on the ground. "Obi-Wan is weak!" screamed Vader. "He's ordinary! And you lost her to _him_?"

Grievous bowed contritely. His nasally brogue strained with fear. "Forgive me for their failure, my Lord. It will not happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Sidious said mildly. "Report to me in one day."

The droid-man vanished. Sidious was silent, carefully neutral. He relished the conflict he knew would follow.

"I see nothing's changed," Dooku mocked Vader. "Senator Amidala remains center-most in your thoughts."

"My thoughts are not your concern," Vader said dangerously.

Dooku smiled, stately and cruel, and observed the fallen Jedi. Vader observed him in kind. He wondered suddenly about the old man's soul, about what, if anything, filled it, and if that anything or nothing was also in his own, and he wondered too about killing the man in his sleep, about whether it would be prudent and about how best to do it, and he posited with a chill that Dooku wondered the same.


	11. One

Escaping wasn't hard. When the Sith fleet entered hyperspace, Landon jumped also, simply setting a different course. Now the ship was on autopilot, leaving nothing to do but wait until Coruscant.

Padme sat on a bench. Miler was on the floor, trying to make sense of R2's insides. He was skilled with technology, but the damage was severe.

"Do you think you can fix him?" Padme asked.

Miler grunted behind his flashlight, peering into the droid's gullet. "I took a few robotics classes. But my attendance was… sporadic."

Padme smiled slightly. "I find that hard to believe."

"Had trouble payin' attention. I'd be loggin' flight hours or out on the shootin' range."

Padme played with a pant thread, watching it unravel. "Do you like that part of it?"

"Which part, ma'am?"

"Shooting people."

Miler switched off the flashlight. He found her looking down. "If they deserve it. I sleep quite nicely, if that's what you're wondering."

Padme frowned at herself. It was such a cruel question. This was the Senate's war. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "For everything."

Miler's face softened as he rubbed his tired eyes. He flashed a smile that reminded her of a day long ago.

_She felt ridiculous in her makeup. The ornate head dressing pressed her neck into her spine. She felt like the punchline of a vaudeville act. Nevertheless, she respected what it represented:_ _countless centuries of democratic monarchy._

_Panaka led her through the cobblestone plaza to a waiting congregation._ _Royal guards escorted a man in a cloak._

_They met by a fountain, which babbled soothingly. The cloaked man_ _drew back his hood, revealing a clean-shaven Jedi with_ _closely cropped hair and a padawan braid. Padme smiled nervously, immediately taken with him._

" _Your majesty," said Panaka, "this is Obi-Wan Kenobi."_

_There was something familiar about him. She could swear she knew him, that she'd even dreamt of him._

_Obi-Wan said,_ " _It's a pleasure to meet you, your highness."_

_Padme extended her hand, a strange practice for a queen. Manners called for a kiss, but he simply shook it. His palm was firm yet gentle._

" _The pleasure is mine," she said._

"We're eight hours from Coruscant," Landon announced.

Padme looked at the bacta tanks where the Jedi floated. She'd never felt so helpless.

Miler said, "When we reach Republic space, I'll send out a beacon—let 'em know we're the good guys."

Landon smirked. "Good guys, huh? I like that about you Republic types. No shades of gray."

Miler scoffed, "Ya don' think there's a clear difference?"

"Everyone's got a moral compass, kid. They don't all point in the same direction."

"I suppose moral relativism is essential in your line of work," Padme remarked.

"Says the politician whose war has killed billions," Landon retorted.

Padme's tone grew bitter, full of pain and frustration. "A war I did not seek! And my moral clarity has no bearing on your own. You're a common thief. You tried to leave them behind!"

"Kenobi told us to leave if he didn't make it! We almost burned alive waiting! I tried to do _exactly what he wanted_!"

"Don't you dare speak for Obi-Wan! You don't know him!"

There was a long silence. Padme suddenly understood the lure of the Dark Side. Anger was consuming, planting roots in our deepest parts. Padme wasn't Force-sensitive, but she pictured it filling the cabin, spiraling her in its will.

Miler tested his mouth twice before speaking. "I believe he's right, ma'am. The Gen'ral values your safety more than his survival."

Padme frowned at his lack of deference.

Miler explained gently, "His life means very little t'him where others are concerned."

Landon looked out the window at the beauty of hyperspace. Padme felt herself shrinking under Miler's gaze. In a matter of hours, he knew Obi-Wan's core. She felt ashamed to be reminded. "He's extraordinary," Padme said.

Miler turned to the bacta tank. Even skirting death, the Jedi was formidable. If there were a thousand Kenobis, this war would be over. But there weren't. Just him. Just one.

"He adores you," Miler said.

Padme's breath caught. For the briefest moment, heart and brain were aligned. What madness in men and women that so much is unsaid. What purpose is served, what safety gained, by denying what's plainly there?

"I was adored once," Landon murmured.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi was a monument to serenity. Truth be told, she'd dreaded his coming. But he had none of the Jedi arrogance she'd wrongly expected.  
_

" _Your planet is lovely," Obi-Wan said._

 _"For now._ _There are those who would make it otherwise."_

" _The Separatists?_

" _Them especially. But they're not the only ones."_

" _Who else?"_

 _Padme grinned. She was accustomed to stares, but it was truly rare to have someone's attention._ " _I'll wait until you've solved my first problem, before I tell you of others."_

" _My_ _mind has room for many thoughts, m'lady," Obi-Wan replied._

_Was he flirting with her? She wondered if all Jedi were like him. And if he could seal the rift on her world. Somehow she knew he'd come through. Obi-Wan could move stars, were the duty assigned him._

_He said_ , " _It is not my place to make promises, your majesty. But I will do what I can."  
_

" _Thank you, Jedi Kenobi." Her face soured. "I only wish I could assure your safety during negotiations. I don't know who to trust_ _,_ _who supports the separatists, who's fanatical in my ranks."_

" _Then I shall treat them all with equal disdain," Obi-Wan deadpanned._

 _Padme giggled._ " _You aren't what I expected."_

" _And what did you expect?"_

" _Someone less… engaging," she admitted, a tinge of color on her face. "And older perhaps."_

" _Would you prefer I were older? More experienced?"_

" _The Jedi sent you for a reason. I do not doubt them."  
_

_Obi-Wan smiled warmly. She quite liked the sight of it._

_They lapsed into companionable silence. Being with him was so different. It felt peaceful and genuine._

_When the sun began to set, Padme thought about the future. It was unbearable not to know it. Did Obi-Wan feel the same?_ _She'd heard stories her whole life._

" _They say Jedi can see the future. Is that true?" asked Padme._

_"It's overstated. But to an extent, yes." He, too, watched the sun sink. "I don't know when I'll die, or the winning swoop-bike at the races. But I see bits and pieces. Sometimes it's hard to make sense of them."_

" _Is that frustrating?"_

" _It can be," he admitted. "But I shouldn't intervene with the will of the Force."_

" _So you believe in fate then?"_

_Obi-Wan smiled enigmatically. And she was sure his eyes could swallow a star._

Padme watched helplessly as they transferred Obi-Wan from the tank to a gurney.

Bail Organa gently pulled her from the path of the stretcher. She touched Obi-Wan's hand, before the medics hurried off.

"I called in the chancellor's personal physician," Bail told her. "He's in good hands. And we both know he's stubborn as hell." Padme nodded through a sheen of tears.

Bail turned to Miler. "You must be Lieutenant Crata."

"That's right. It's very nice t'meet ya, Senator."

"The feeling is mutual," Bail said. "I've known some resourceful men in my time. But rescuing two Jedi and a senator from a war zone in an enemy ship? That's a new one to me." Landon scowled at the misplaced accolades.

"It wasn't just me, sir." Miler said of the smuggler: "He also had a hand in it."

Bail smiled humbly and extended his palm. "Then my thanks to you, as well. You've done a service to the Republic."

Landon stared at his hand before cautiously taking it. "Yeah, sure. Happy to help. But now that I've done you a favor, maybe you can scratch my back."

"What is it you need?"

"Well, I'm an entrepreneur—" He ignored Miler's snort. "—and the Sith just destroyed my entire operation. Matter of fact, I ain't got a thing in the world but what I'm wearing. I figure since boss man—" He gestured to the absent Obi-Wan. "—is kind of a big deal, me saving his life might be worth something."

Bail said, "We'll work something out. Until then, you're an honored guest. I'll see that you're given quarters in the Jedi Temple."

"Senator," Miler interjected, "I'd like to get in touch with my commander. Meet up with my squadron. Do you know where they are?"

Bail's mouth pinched at the corners. He didn't want to be the one to deliver this news. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. But you're the only member of your legion to survive. The rest were killed in combat."

The words hung in the air, dancing around Miler, before reality set in. He'd been so relieved to survive Sarna that he glossed over all the dead. Millions perished, including Leona and his brothers in arms. What was left for him?

"You're on stand-down," Bail said. "I know you were stationed on Taris. But for now, you're welcome here. Familiar faces might do you some good."

Padme rubbed Miler's shoulder. She despaired at his eyes, dry and lifeless. "Come on," she said gently, grasping his elbow. "Let's get cleaned up."

* * *

Mace Windu and Ki-Adi-Mundi strode down the hallway. Yoda rode a hover-pad, grave and sullen.

"He's our best tactician," Mundi said. "But even his strategy can't change the tide of war."

Yoda grunted. "More to it, there is, than his skills as a general."

"What are you saying?" Mace demanded.

The green Jedi sighed, adjusting his hair wisps. "Recall, do you, the day Obi-Wan was brought to the temple?"

"That was thirty years ago," Mace said, arching an eyebrow. "I remember you canceled our training to oversee his arrival. I found that… unusual as a padawan."

"Tell anyone the reason for my interest, I never did."

"Why?" Mundi asked.

"Knew, I did, that the information was dangerous," Yoda said. "When born was Obi-Wan, an echo in the Force I felt. As though his presence were redundant or unnatural. And when brought to the temple, he was, overwhelmingly strong the feeling grew."

Mace's forehead sloped in confusion. "I don't understand. What do you mean by redundant? How was his birth unnatural?"

"More to tell you, I do not have. Substantiate the feeling, I never could. Meditate on it for many years, I have, but it has brought me no closer to the truth."

"Was it the Dark Side you sensed?" Mundi asked.

"No!" Yoda replied, startling in his emphasis. "Farther from the Dark Side than Obi-Wan, a Jedi cannot be."

Mace paused as they neared the infirmary. He gave Yoda a pointed look. "You said we couldn't afford to lose Obi-Wan. Why?"

"Felt those things in the Force, for a reason, I did. And resolved they have not been. Sense, I do, that his fate and the Jedi's are inextricably linked."

Mace nodded slightly. He swept a hand across his mouth, lowering his voice as younglings walked past. "Have you told Obi-Wan?"

"No. Never."

"Perhaps you should," Mundi suggested.

Yoda shut his eyes, sliding into the porous Force in search of its will. But where he was searching, it was empty; and where he was open, it was closed.

His ears flattened against his head. "Perhaps."

* * *

 _Padme observed him staring at the grass. He seemed in tune with the motion of each blade. She wondered if a person could feel the Force by_ watching _it_ be _felt. Perhaps not. All she felt was her fixation with Obi-Wan._

_He smiled. "It's a lovely day," he called to her._

" _No more than yesterday."_

 _He chuckled softly. It was a hymn to her ears._ " _Perhaps not," he conceded._

_"Why do you like it here?" asked Padme_ _, a little meek as she added, "If you don't mind the question."_

" _Not at all, m'lady. Though I mightn't have an answer." He paused, looking pure as a newborn. "I suppose I find peace here. There's an... energy I can't explain."_

" _Energy?"_

" _A point of calmness. Like I find in you."  
_

_Only her diplomatic training prevented a blush. "The calmness is yours," she said reverently. "How you resolved our conflict without blood, I'll never fathom."_

_He shrugged humbly._ " _I simply conveyed the cost of war in credits and lives. These men are corrupt, but they're not beyond reason."_

" _You act like it's nothing," Padme remarked with a giggle. "I tried to tell them that, too."_

_"Yes, but I'_ _m a Jedi, My credibility surpasses that of a mere queen."_

_She saw through the deadpan. Obi-Wan had no sense of grandeur; in fact, he treated himself too poorly for her liking. Obi-Wan was comforting, unintimidating, and she wanted to dispatch his misgivings about himself._

" _I'll miss you when you're gone," she said._

Padme watched him sleep. His arms were covered in gauze, sealing the burns from air. His heavily bandaged chest was flecked with red blotches. "Will he be all right?" she asked.

"Yes—thanks to you," said the doctor. "Any longer without bacta and he wouldn't have survived."

"His burns aren't as bad as I thought."

"We have the Jedi healers to thank for that. As a man of science, I can't account for the Force. But I'm content not understanding."

"You and I both," Padme said.

The doctor excused himself when Yoda, Mace, and Mundi entered.

"Senator, we're pleased to see you're all right," Mace said.

Padme smiled slightly. "Only because of Obi-Wan."

"Knew, we did, that he would succeed," Yoda said. "Refuse, he does, all other outcomes."

She was glad to hear him say it. Sometimes she thought they didn't realize how extraordinary he was.

"You and he are very close," Mace said.

Padme's lips pinched together in a warning to tread lightly. "He's a good friend. His strength is a comfort."

Yoda smiled serenely at the heart she wore carelessly. He lifted his hover-pad to eye-level, staring at her intently. "Senator, discuss, we would like to, a matter of great importance.

"Of course," said Padme.

"Better, it would be, to discuss it privately."

"I need to stay with Obi-Wan."

"I'll look after him," a voice called from the doorway.

Aayla Secura entered the infirmary. Padme had never met her, but she'd seen her speaking with Obi-Wan. She remembered feeling irrationally possessive. Obi-Wan spoke fondly of Aayla, having supported her when her master fell to the Dark Side.

The infirmary lit the veined tentacles folded behind the blue Twi'lek's head. Padme was immediately struck by her beauty. Hazel eyes anchored a soft face, with a small, pointed nose and full, pink lips. She, like Obi-Wan, emitted strength and compassion.

"I'll find you if he wakes up," Aayla promised.

Padme nodded reluctantly. She followed Mace to the door before turning back.

Aayla touched Obi-Wan's head in a motherly way. Then she sat beside Eisley, grasping her hand. Only then did Padme realize she was Eisley's apprentice. She wished she'd known. She might have said something kind.

* * *

If he had to choose one word to describe the temple, Miler would pick "sterile." It was all so _clean_. The wide, polished hallways seemed to go on forever. Skylights in the ceiling brought the light of day.

He looked out an oval window, staring until clock time gave way to the uncertain increments between thought and thought. At some point, he heard a rough voice behind him.

"Hell of a view," Landon said.

The temple spires grasped at the sky like a dreaming toddler. Below them was the wing where the younglings lived. Miler thought it must be strange to grow up a Jedi, to accept a proscribed path without any input. "Aye, it ain't bad."

Landon looked at him sidelong. "You doing okay, kid?"

"I'm fine," Miler said dully.

"Look, I don't do that 'life goes on, they're in your heart' shit. But since her majesty is with Kenobi—"

Miler scowled. But he looked more scared, more lost, than he did angry.

Landon watched him sadly. "Kid, there's no reason. So don't look for one."

"There has to be a reason," Miler said.

"Well, if there is, it's bigger than both of us."

"It doesn't make sense. I'm not special."

Landon thumbed at some stubble, staring at the spires. They looked like bayonets wielded at the sky. "We're all special," he said, thinking of his mother. "Don't it mean something that in a galaxy with a trillion stars, and tens of trillions of galaxies like it—that in all of that space, there's only one of each of us?"

Miller dipped his head. A small smirk tugged at his mouth. It occurred to him that being okay is a state of mind, and people can impose on themselves any state they choose. So Miler decided he was fine.

He'd always been practical.

* * *

The briefing chamber was less than she expected. The lack of windows made it cold and foreboding. At the room's center was a projector, used to display maps and plan strategy. She imagined Obi-Wan looking grim, rubbing his beard as he developed battle plans.

"I can't imagine what's so urgent," Padme said, dryly adding, "I hope you don't want my advice on troop deployments."

Mace walked to the projector, pausing indecisively. His hand hovered above the console before he squared his shoulders to her. "Senator Amidala, what we are about to tell you cannot leave this room."


	12. Malice

"Share this lightly, we do not," Yoda said.

Padme marveled at his stare, deep as creation. "I understand."

"Are you familiar with the Architects?" Mundi asked.

She thought back to school. "An ancient race that predates recorded history. It's said they're the source of technology," she recalled, before quizzically adding, "But they're a myth. More primitive cultures regard them as gods."

"Primitive, are not we all," Yoda said, "when regarded by greater beings? Hmm?" He jabbed his stick chidingly. "But evidence, there has never been, to prove their existence."

"Until now," Mace said.

A projector flashed on, showing an image of a sketchbook. On one of the worn pages was a drawing of a chair. It was brown with a high back, fringed with crystals and capped by a smooth circle. There were two engravings: a serpent and a tree.

Padme stepped forward. "What is this?"

"It's an artifact," Mace said, "recovered from a planet in the Outer Rim."

"How did you find it?"

"We didn't. We only received this image of it."

Padme's brow furrowed. "From where?"

"We managed to embed an agent on Sidious' flagship. He sent us this yesterday."

"Sidious? He doesn't strike me as an archaeologist."

Yoda said, "If creators of all technology, the Architects were, then very potent are their remnants. Searching, Sidious is, for a power hidden by time."

"And this?" Padme asked, gesturing to the hologram. "What power is in this book?"

"The power lies not in the book," Mace said, "but in what this page illustrates."

"The chair?"

"We've had trouble translating the corresponding text. But we've made out some of it."

Padme looked intently at the lettering but didn't recognize the language.

"It shares a few similarities with Early Rakatan," Mundi explained. "We learned the chair's name, along with a short descriptive phrase." Padme's forehead wrinkled expectantly. "We believe it's called the Mercy Seat. And we believe it's described as the 'reaper of sorrows.'"

"And you think Sidious is looking for it," she surmised.

Mace said, "He believes it's a weapon—one of unimaginable power. If it truly exists, he'll never stop looking."

Her affect darkened. She blew a miserable breath. "Why are you telling me? What help can I be?"

Yoda leaned heavily on his cane. "Imperative, it is, that we find the chair before Sidious. Have the resources to launch our own search, however, we do not. Much blood and treasure has this war cost us."

"You want the senate to finance this," she realized.

"Yes."

"Then why don't you ask Chancellor Vallorum? Surely he'd approve it."

"Take the chance that this information is disseminated, we cannot. Keep the knowledge from the Sith, we must. Spies in our ranks, they have."

Padme blinked away the light. The secrecy they sought was not unprecedented. But it challenged her ideals of a transparent government.

Mace sensed her reluctance. He threw a look at Yoda, who nodded meaningfully. Mace lowered his head so he and Padme were eye to eye.

"Senator," he began, voice grimly quiet, "the war is going very badly for the Republic. Far worse than is generally known. We estimate that, within eight months, we'll be forced to surrender or face complete annihilation."

Padme blanched. She was briefly numb, until righteous anger could gather to animate. "Eight months?" she whispered, the words tasting of blood. "Who do you think you are? You've been _lying_ to us at our intelligence briefings?"

"It won't help to create panic—in the public _or_ the Congress," Mundi explained. "Perception is as dangerous as blasters."

"I never thought I'd see the day when a Jedi Master defended a lie."

Mace hardened. "We did not invite your judgment, Senator. And it's irrelevant to the matter at hand."

" _I disagree_ ," she growled.

"Understand, I do, your anger," Yoda conceded. "But necessary, we felt it was."

A thought suddenly struck her. "Did Obi-Wan know?"

Yoda's ears folded back. She pressed a palm to her head, feeling the fight leave her.

Obi-Wan's complicity should have made her angrier, but her faith in him would not abide it. To tell a lie, even one of omission, would be a last resort for Obi-Wan. If he'd found sufficient cause, then she had to accept it.

She let out a breath. "Do you believe this—thing—is a weapon?"

Mace shut off the projector, and the room went black.

"I believe," he said, "that it's our last hope."

* * *

Water spurted from the fountain base before it was caught in a basin and flowed down a slide. Eventually it squeezed through a drain hole and repeated the process.

Meditating Jedi took solace in the babble and in the canopy of plants. Miler didn't think people should rely on a place for peace. But what can you do when your Inner Source has run dry?

He walked along the stone path. The plants, culled from various planetscapes, were wildly diverse. Yet they wound up and around each other, seeming to comprise a single life.

After some minutes, he stepped off the path into a mass of trees. And the further he walked, the closer he felt to a place far away.

_The transport smashed through the trees, shaking its passengers. Miler unsnapped his rifle cartridge, checking the power cell. Once satisfied, he snapped it in place again.  
_

_Felucia was dismal. The air was pregnant with death. Monstrous flowers, with red exteriors and teeth-like yellow cores, stood as high as ten men. They swallowed living things, released deadly pollen._ _Every seed in the wind carried the plague._

_"You have any sticks?" asked the man next to him._

_Miler shook his head at_ _—was it Sergeant Dawson? Dawson frowned and leaned back._

_Miler was lost in a reverie, deep but choppy, drifting between thoughts with no common theme._ _Like a bored child, Dawson asked, "You ever dream?"  
_

_"Aye, we all do."  
_

_"I've been dreaming a lot. I can't figure why._ _And they're not even bad dreams. Last night, I dreamt I was king of this place."_

" _Ya may be king of this army by the time we're done."_

_Dawson shook his head, like he hadn't heard him. "It was weird being worshiped. But kind of nice at the same time. Maybe that's how it starts: becoming a Sith."_

_Miler smiled slightly._ " _Ya wanna be a Sith now?"_

" _Nah. No, I don't think so. Whatever's inside us that talks to the Force, mine doesn't tell me what the Force says back."_

_Miler looked away, feeling each bump of the transport. His brows drew together. "I dream abou' my mother," he said, surprised by his admission. "Sometimes I'm a kid. Sometime it's now. It's always nice, 'cause I loved her very much."_

" _You believe in ghosts?" Dawson asked._

" _I think there's things that linger," Miler said. "Whether it's whole things or parts of them, I don't really know. Or maybe there's nothin'. What a waste that'd be."_

_It surprised him to realize he enjoyed the conversation. He was settling into the new feeling when his grizzled commander appeared with a scowl. The commander's speech was impeded by a death stick between his lips._

" _All right, listen up!" he shouted. "May not look like it right now, but things are getting pretty hot. We're ten clicks from the thick of it. The Sith just punched through to our midline, so you better be ready to push back." He tossed his death stick over the side. "Man up, check your blasters, and I will see you in the jungle."_

_Miler unsnapped his cartridge, checking the power cell. Once satisfied, he snapped it in place again._

"How's he doin'?"

Aayla looked up from her seat between Obi-Wan and Eisley. "He endured a great deal. A lesser man would've died."

Miler was glad for the warmth in her voice. "He's a humble man, too." At her expression, he added: "Not every Jedi is tha' way. Saesee Tinn was a good man—but arrogant." He smiled shyly. "I hope ya don' take offense."

"None at all."

He dragged a chair to the bed. She was glad for the company. Leaning back in her seat, she looked at Eisley. Neither the doctors nor healers were hopeful for recovery.

"She's your master," Miler realized. "We didn't re'lly speak, but she acted bravely."

Aayla wrinkled her brow. She owed her master a great deal, but she owed Obi-Wan more. He was there for her when the dark was most tempting. He'd stay up all night assuaging her doubt.

She looked at Miler, drawn to his eyes. They were sad but kind, and very light, almost partially opaque, as if she could glimpse the soul underneath. "I'm sorry for your loss. I know how hard it is."

"War is difficult," Miler said thickly.

"You've known loss before, haven't you?"

"We all have."

"Yes, but not like you," Aayla said. "I sense you've had it harder than you let people know."

Miler chuckled humorlessly. "I build m'life around people, is all. It's lovely while it lasts. But people go away."

Aayla smiled shyly. "The universe is vast. Filled with people."

Miler's eyes sparked. He couldn't help but smile back. "You're very wise. I see why the Gen'ral likes you."

"Thank you. But I have much to learn," she deflected, feeling slight for his praise. She decided the soldier was handsome, but that it mattered little. "I'm not sure I heard your name. Or if I did, I'm embarrassed I forgot it."

He extended a warm hand, calloused and scarred, very unlike her own. "I'm Miler," he said, as he took her palm in his.

"Aayla."

* * *

Landon flexed his bandaged hand. As blaster wounds went, it was thankfully mild.

He sat in the temple promenade, watching Jedi pass by. There weren't that many. Most of the Order was dead or deployed.

Small bands of light pressed through a sculpted window, which followed an archway. It could never be home, a place this sterile. His mom used to tell him a place isn't lived-in until it's dirty and broken, and until there's graves to tie you down. But the temple was clean, sturdy, and the Jedi burned their kin.

"I hear you'll be sticking around for a while," Padme said.

Landon looked up, crossing his ankles. "Yeah, that's right. That Organa fella knows how to treat a guy."

"As opposed to me, I assume?"

"He checked my first box by not threatening to kill me."

"Give it a few conversations," Padme said dryly. She gestured to his hand. "What did the doctor say?"

Landon resented her perfunctory concern. "Consider your conscience satisfied, your heinous."

Padme denied him the conflict he sought. She smiled politely, continuing on her way.

Landon glanced off, eyes falling on a Jedi, who was walking very purposefully in a steam-pressed tunic. It could never be home, he thought.

* * *

_Dawson was dead, face-down in the swamp.  
_

_Miler clawed over him, taking his blaster, and sprinted onward. Blaster bolts trailed him, rippling the swamp. Beside him, a woman's head exploded in the wind. A sentient flower reached into the water, consumed the headless body._

_Miler's unit awaited him. His commander laid down cover, before suddenly screaming:_ "Miler, look out!"

_His unit vanished in a swampy geyser. Corpses and flames shot through the sky. Miler was thrown twenty feet and deposited on his back.  
_

_All was black, and silent, and cold._

He startled awake at a hand on his arm. He rubbed sleep and memory from the corners of his eyes.

Padme smiled when he grunted. "That doesn't look very comfortable."

Miler rubbed his neck, righting his posture. He found Aayla's chair empty and Obi-Wan asleep. "He hasn't woken up. But they said he'll recover."

Padme fingered the dressing on her head. Obi-Wan had risked so much to ensure her safety. Perhaps more than he should have. He was the perfect Jedi, compelled to put others first. Yet there was something more where she was concerned.

"I don't know what I would have done if I lost him," Padme admitted.

Miler wondered how it felt to have one so devoted. "We all adapt, ma'am."

"You look very tired," Padme said.

"A little."

"You should get some rest."

"And you?"

"I'm only staying for a bit."

Miler's throat was rough when he laughed. "With respect, ma'am, you're a terrible liar. It's a wonder you've succeeded at bein' a senator."

Padme smiled, turning to Obi-Wan. When Miler graciously departed, she lay her head by the Jedi's. She stared at his eyelids and wondered if he was dreaming.

_The Sith officer smashed him in the mouth. Miler's head snapped back. His arms strained against the binders holding them to the chair. He licked the blood from his lips._

" _I'll ask you again: where is your Jedi commander?"_

_Miler stared ahead blankly. The officer cracked him above the eye, opening a new wound. Miler grimaced but didn't make a sound._

" _This is not a game," warned the officer. "My Lord is not merciful. If you do not answer me, I'll be forced to hand you over. My Lord's methods are... harsher."_

_He threw another punch for emphasis. Miler's head bobbed before rolling back.  
_

" _Lieutenant Miler Crata," he mumbled. "Service number: 38-917-8A. Date of bir_ _—"_

_The officer slammed his boot into Miler's face. It broke his nose and toppled the chair. Miler heard only footsteps, and the drip of water from a leaky ceiling. He was alone in the drifting dark._

* * *

Landon descended the temple steps, feeling his knees ache. Youthful vigor had calcified into time's cold reality.

He wandered the city, coiled himself in people. It struck him how Coruscantis lived in the moment. He heard trivial arguments, breathy laughter. There was no war in the streets. The myriad dead went unconjured.

Landon liked the idea of it, so he found a bar and drank.

* * *

Padme pushed some hair from his face. It was short but unruly. Finding gel too prideful, he was constantly brushing it back.

Her hand trailed down his beard. It hid a scar beneath his chin, where he'd been scraped with a lightsaber. It wasn't vanity. He just wanted to forget.

Padme, too, tried to forget Anakin's fall. It hadn't shocked her; he'd grown increasingly deranged. Even years later, his obsession was chilling.

She thought back to meeting him. She was still queen then, visiting Obi-Wan after a trip to Congress. Even as a boy, Anakin scared her. She didn't know why. Perhaps, the way the arthritic foretell rain, she'd sensed his dark future.

Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered open. Padme leaned in, taking his hand, and flashed a smile at once giddy and exhausted.

"You again," he mumbled.

Her smile widened, showing teeth. "Would you prefer R2?"

"I couldn't take his lecture."

"How about mine?"

He slurred, "Let's skip to the part where I pretend to be sorry."

She moved her chair to an intimate distance. "How are you feeling? Should I get the doctor?"

Obi-Wan ignored her. "How are the others?"

"All accounted for. But…" She looked past him to Eisley.

"Bad?" he mumbled.

She nodded sullenly, squeezing his hand.

"Miler? R2?" he asked.

"Miler's fine. R2's being repaired. And Landon—"

"Landon?"

Padme pressed her head against his arm. "There's a lot I have to tell you."

* * *

_We often dream of dying, or of almost dying, and so some fear nightmares as they do grim death. But truly the most terrifying is the State between sleep and awake. Nightmares beguile us, mining hyperbole from our unshuttered minds, but deep inside we're wise to the ruse, whereas the State collects elements of the real and the ruse and blends them, so that our wisdom cowers, and while most think of death as a sort of slumber, the perished know it is the State unending._

_Miler heard footsteps, and they sounded like his mother's and like the interrogator's and like his own as he walked across his childhood room and across Felucia's dead facade. He could feel the Force, and the lack of the Force, and everything in-between._

" _What is your name?" a cruel voice asked._

"I said: what is your name?" asked the Black-Hooded Man.

When the soldier didn't answer, a snarling minion kicked him in the ribs. The soldier gasped, sputtering blood.

"You have an impressive resistance to the Force," said the Black-Hooded Man. "For a time, you may even resist torture. But will can be exhausted; it is a finite thing."

The soldier grimaced, teeth scattered around him. The Black-Hooded Man entered the light. His face, a putrid amalgam of burned and stitched flesh, capped at the scalp by two horns, reflected the soldier's own death at him.

"I'll ask you once more: what—"

The comm-panel chirped, and a voice from the bridge interceded: "Lord Malice."

Without moving, the Sith demanded: "What is the purpose of this interruption?"

"Forgive me, sir, but Lord Sidious requests your presence."

For a long moment, Malice's red eyes bore into the soldier's. Then he walked to the door, turning back to declare: "I shall have what I want from you."

_Miler, tied to the turned-over chair, listened distantly as the footsteps faded, and then, at last, he was alone once more—he and the end and the beginning, he and the light and the dark._


	13. Mission

" _Now is not the time for this discussion."_

" _I don't believe you'll_ ever _find time."_

" _Padawan, I've made my decision. It is not your place to question it."_

" _I'm not your padawan anymore," Obi-Wan reminded him, blocking his path. "The boy is_ dangerous _. We all see it. Why can't you?"_

 _Qui-Gon leveled a firm stare._ " _Young one, you will not decide his future. The Force brought us together. It is fated that I train him."_

_"His future is clouded," Obi-Wan warned. "I fear he will take a very dark path."_

_The elder Jedi set his jaw._ _He'd indulged his pupil far too long._ " _I know we don't always agree, but do you think so little of me?"_

" _Don't pretend you're hurt. It's beneath you."_

_"The boy will not fall. I will not let him."_

_"Your hubris is discomfiting," Obi-Wan scoffed. "He's too powerful to control. You're simply not up to it."_

_Qui-Gon realized finally that their bond could not endure. Too much of his will had been wasted holding on to it. He couldn't force Obi-Wan to be the wise iconoclast for whom he'd so long wished._ _"I was wrong. You weren't ready for the trials. You're a pawn of the council."_ _  
_

Obi-Wan limped through the temple, aided by the painkilling power of the Force. This took great concentration; thus, he was curt with passersby.

Padme wouldn't be happy. She'd retired to her quarters on the assumption he wouldn't move. But right now, he needed answers. If what Padme said was true, then they could win this war, once and for all.

* * *

"Have a seat, Lieutenant."

Miler lowered himself gingerly. The events on Sarna had taken a toll, physically and in the mind. Leona Voll: victim of chaos. His legion, gone: wiped from existence. All that remained was a patch on his jacket.

The Major's uniform, covered in bars he earned at a desk, placed Miler's bruised leather in stark relief. The bureaucrat's hands were clasped in front of him. "You've been through hell, son."

"Aye," blinked Miler.

"You were already due leave. Given what's happened, I think—"

"All due respect, sir, I'd prefer a transfer. Somethin' in the core worlds. They need good people."

The Major slowly reclined in his chair. "Lieutenant, I'm at a loss. Most men cherish their leave." He searched his face, not out of sympathy but a need to understand. "Don't you have someone? A wife, a girlfriend?"

Miler's forehead creased. For a moment, he was silent. "There might be someone."

* * *

Doctor Stall was something of an ogre. His stomach hung over his belt. He had a crooked nose that sloped miserably into the gray of his mustache. And his sleepy brown eyes lacked Obi-Wan's feeling.

"How is Master Pathij?" he asked.

Aayla made a show of relaxing in her chair. "Unconscious but improving."

"It must be difficult seeing someone you love in such a state."

"A Jedi is forbidden to love."

"It may be forbidden. But you have free will."

"Yes, and I choose to follow the code," said Aayla. "I am concerned for her, certainly. She serves the Force well."

Stall noted her stiffness. It was no wonder Jedi fell; they were all repressed and confused. "You don't like talking to me, do you? You don't like me asking these questions."

Aayla smirked. "Does that surprise you?"

"Not really. Very few people enjoy these sessions. But I hope you see why they're important."

"'An impartial doctor, with a speciality in Jedi psychology, will assess your risk of falling to the Dark Side.' Yes," she said, her cool voice straining, "Master Windu made it quite clear to us."

"Have you had any urges? Any strong emotions?"

"None."

Stall held her eyes, making some notes. She breathed easily, one eyebrow arched. But he noticed a vein throb in her tentacle.

"You realize, if I think you're lying, I have to report it to the council," he warned her. "They take my recommendations very seriously."

"Tell them what you will."

"You're lying about your emotions. Whatever you're feeling, if not dealt with, is dangerous."

"I will deal with my emotions in a manner of my choosing."

"Stubbornness," Stall spat, "is a trait of the Sith."

Aayla's face darkened. "What do you know of the Sith?"

"I've spoken to over 300 Jedi, and the overwhelming majority of them are struggling with temptation. You'll succumb to emotions if you can't acknowledge them."

Aayla stilled despite the anger boiling in her blood. It was enough to be lectured by Eisley and Yoda. To be instructed on the Dark Side by a smug non-sensitive gave Aayla a vision of using her saber. "Failure to divulge something to you, Doctor, is not failure to acknowledge it. I do not, and never shall, count you among my confidants. My thoughts and feelings are my own, and your _interrogation_ _—_ " He flinched at the word "—shan't change that."

Stall watched her stand, impossibly furious, and stalk from his office.

When he was alone, the doctor leaned back, pressed a button on his data pad, and remarked: "Patient exhibits anger, frustration, and paranoia connected to her current master's health as well as the betrayal of her former one. I would call her likelihood to fall moderate and recommend that she be closely monitored."

* * *

Yoda's eyes fluttered open. He sensed a figure in the doorway. Every living being had a unique Force signature: what some call a "current." This one was calm, determined, weaving pure light through its every pattern. Yet the man it belonged to knew not his own nature. He could never admit it, but Yoda loved him.

"Resting, you should be."

"I can go if you'd like," Obi-Wan said.

Yoda heard the smile in his voice. "Already here, you are. Come sit down."

It was the height of day, but the room was dark. The lights were dimmed to promote contemplation.

"How feel you?" the old man asked.

"I'm well."

Yoda grunted. "Hoped, I did, time would dull your stubbornness."

"It has dulled many things, I assure you." Despite their banter, Obi-Wan was distracted.

"Spoken with Senator Amidala, you have," Yoda realized.

"She wasn't very happy."

"Understandable. The right thing, we did, though."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure. Did the Council outsmart itself? Surely the Senate, and the public, deserved to know the truth. Perhaps rather than create chaos, it would've rallied them together.

He blinked away the past. "Padme said there's a weapon that can destroy the Sith."

"A ghost of the ancient times."

"The Rakatans?"

"The Architects."

A small crease formed between Obi-Wan's eyes. Little was known about the Architects (many doubted their existence), except that they created the technology upon which civilization was founded. They built the first cities and hyperspace routes, colonized worlds, and then without explanation disappeared from the galaxy.

"If it's as powerful as you believe, we could end this war. But if it fell into Sith hands…"

"Find it, _we must_ ," Yoda said.

Obi-Wan peered through the blinds at an orange horizon. "Why do I get the feeling life's about to be complicated?"

" _You said it yourself: he's grown increasingly reckless. Something has to be done."_

" _He won't listen to me. He never has," Obi-Wan said._

" _Perhaps not. But you're the only one who has a chance," Mace insisted. "The council cannot rein him in. His psychiatric evaluations say he's at high risk of falling. It's irresponsible to let him train young Skywalker."_

_"Then take Anakin away from him!" Obi-Wan growled. "Reassign him to another master! For goodness sake, it's in your power!"_

_Mace sometimes forgot Obi-Wan was only twenty-four._ " _He wouldn't accept it; neither would Anakin. We'd be driving them to the Sith. We cannot let Anakin's power fall into enemy hands. It would mean the end of the Jedi."_

 _Obi-Wan walked to the window. Not since his knighting had Qui-Gon smiled._ " _He's the only Jedi I know who's never been wrong. How do you tell a man like that that his actions will destroy the galaxy?"_

_"I wish I knew. What I do know is that Qui-Gon Jinn has poisoned that boy. If we don't stop him, Anakin will fall."_

* * *

Flanked by Dooku and Vader, Sidious marched through a ceremonial arrangement of soldiers. The troops stared straight ahead, saluting the dark lords. Sidious reveled in their utter terror.

At the end of the line, Malice received them with a bow. "My lords."

Sidious continued to the hanger exit. Malice and the others matched his stride.

"What have you learned from the prisoner?" asked Sidious.

"I had just begun my interrogation when you arrived."

"Return to it at once. Find out what he knows and who he told," Sidious said. "Destroy his mind if you must."

Dooku frowned. He stepped to his master's other side. "My lord, we have an opportunity before us. We could reprogram his mind, send him back to the Jedi."

"There is no time for that. We must move quickly if we are to prevent the Jedi from finding the artifact."

"I will prepare a level-four mind probe," Malice said. "He will talk. Then he will die."

Sidious smiled cruelly. There was no greater expression of power than, and nothing so satisfying as, killing one who's done everything you asked. Malice held a special place in the lord's black heart.

* * *

It was a pointless exercise—rejecting emotion. The Jedi believed repression an ingredient of enlightenment. They thought that by embracing love, one also embraced fear, and that fear was anger, and anger hate, and hate suffering.

But repression had consequences. Her master hadn't addressed his emotions. They simmered, grew, until taking control of him. She couldn't let that happen to her. She had to process what she felt.

"Would ya mind some company?"

She looked up at Miler, smiling shyly. Her stomach tumbled at his warm expression.

"I don' mean to disturb ya," Miler said. "Ya seemed to be contemplatin'."

Aayla leaned on the garden wall. Miler mirrored her pose, a little closer than was polite. She swallowed as she felt the heat from his arms. Or was that the Force, transmitting his inner warmth?

"I suppose I was," she said.

"Anythin' I can help with?"

"I believe not," she said. Registering his disappointment, she added: "Unless you can explain my own mind to me."

Miler smiled slightly. "Still workin' on my own. But if ya wanna talk, I'm happy to listen."

Aayla looked at her hands, clasped in front of her. She shouldn't say anything. These thoughts were best shared with Eisley or Obi-Wan. But Miler's gravity was inescapable. His patient stare was intoxicating. "I don't trust myself sometimes," she admitted.

"That's not so strange," Miler said kindly.

"But it is dangerous."

"Where does it come from?"

"I believe it's ingrained in me," said Aayla, "as it is in all Jedi. We're taught from birth to reject emotion. They say feelings are too consuming."

Miler wondered at the images flitting through her mind. It was a sacred gift to see one so strong look so vulnerable. "That's not re'lly fair—or re'listic. Saesee Tinn couldn't do it. I witnessed his anger."

That startled Aayla. She asked, "What sort of anger?"

"The kind that scares people," Miler half-laughed.

"I remember the padawans talking," Aayla said curiously, "but I never believed it."

"But ya do now?"

"Yes. I trust you."

Miler fought off a grin, if only because of her forlorn stare. His head shook with conviction. "If a member of the Jedi Council can lose his temper, ya canna expect yourself to act like a droid. Besides, your emotions are productive."

"How do you mean?"

"I saw how ya looked at Eisley, and the Gen'ral. Love isn't weakness. It's beautiful."

"I feel anger, too," she insisted.

"That doesn't make you a Sith. They canna feel love. They don' look outward. That isn't you, lass."

Aayla's face felt flush. Her breath caught in her throat at his easy dismissal of fifteen millennia of Jedi teachings. It was brazen yet humble. His warm, easy voice seemed to embody the peace of the Force. Sometimes she forgot that the Jedi and the Force were not the same thing. The Jedi were men and women interpreting its will, codifying those interpretations into rules. What if Aayla, the individual, chose to interpret for herself?

After a long moment, she said: "It's nice talking to you, Miler."

* * *

_A darkness encroached on the temple menagerie. It pressed on the flowers; their petals constricted, causing the anthers to overproduce pollen._

_The menagerie animals were docile, or at least made so by the Force. They roamed freely through the open room. Only a few steel beams and an observation balcony cut into the vast space._

_In the middle of all the flora, Qui-Gon stroked a kybuck. Hearing footsteps, he called out: "Hello, Obi-Wan."_ _He'd waited months for this moment, prepared for it by a vision. He'd hoped it wouldn't come. But nothing would prevent him from fulfilling his destiny._

" _How is the old girl?" Obi-Wan asked._

" _She's all right. A bit heavy, but captivity can do that."_

_Obi-Wan lay his palm on the kybuck, which startled when he pet it. "Easy, girl."_

_"She doesn't like you."_

_Obi-Wan pulled back, folding his arms into his cloak. He noted Qui-Gon's hand lingered by his hip._ _"No, she doesn't. But everyone changes."_

_In the Force, his master felt Obi-Wan's concern. Or perhaps it was more—perhaps it was fear—diluted by his pupil's powerful shielding. He had little respect for Obi-Wan's conception of the Force, but he couldn't deny he wielded it flawlessly._ " _What can I do for you, padawan?"_

" _I understand your mission to Belaria was cancelled. They're sending Master Granger."_

" _He'll ably fill in."_

" _Anakin must have been disappointed."_

 _It wasn't in his voice, but Qui-Gon was sure he was mocking him. Anger twisted his face into a dignified grimace._ " _Anakin will weather it, as he always does. He's strong in the Force, and in his own mind. He's been, by far, my most capable student."_

_Obi-Wan flinched. "Capable of what?"_

"L _earning the ways of the Jedi."_

_The animals grew restless. They chewed on plants with mysterious compulsion. The air, typically warm, filled with serenity, was cold and uncanny, gusting about. Obi-Wan's cloak flapped by his legs. Suddenly he knew there was no going back. His father, Qui-Gon, was long since dead. The man before him was a Sith without a name._

_Obi-Wan said,_ " _There are those who believe it is not the Jedi way he's learning."_

" _Do you speak for the council?"_

" _I speak for myself."_

_"Your pretense insults me," Qui-Gon sneered. "Whose errand are you running? Master Windu's? Yoda's perhaps?"_

_Obi-Wan said mildly, "I'm checking on a friend."_

_Qui-Gon's hand on the kybuck completed a circuit in the Force. It raised on its legs, screaming shrilly, and took off running, trampling the flowers.  
_

" _You're so_ _dogmatic,_ _" said Qui-Gon. "I tried to make you see, but you shut your eyes."_

" _I saw what you showed me. I made a choice."_

" _As Anakin will make his."_

" _He's too young," said Obi-Wan. "You've made the choice for him."_

" _You know_ **nothing** _,_ _padawan_ _!"_

_Obi-Wan's unerring steadiness brought his rage to a boil. How badly he'd tried to rescue his pupil, to make him see grays in the spectrum of the Force. The childish notion of light and dark as mutually exclusive had brought the Jedi Order to the brink of death._

_Light swathed young Kenobi,_ _submerged him in its aura, creating a vacuum-tight barrier between he and the Dark Side. And that's why he'd fail. Rules are for the dead, power for the living._

_Obi-Wan began to walk in an arc._ _Qui-Gon matched him so they were circling each other._

" _I'll tell you what I know," Obi-Wan said. "Three days ago, you removed a Sith Holocron from the archives without informing a librarian. And you returned it in secrecy in the middle of the night."_

_"You act like it's a crime."_

" _It is!" growled Obi-Wan._

" _We are at_ war _, man! Anakin must learn what we are fighting!"_

" _Through_ explanation— _not_ exposure _! We've lost far stronger men to Emperor Sidious."_

_Their eyes locked, conceding nothing. "I've known this day would come," Qui-Gon said. "And I knew it would be you."_

_"Do not credit to destiny the choices you've made," Obi-Wan exhorted. "The Force provides a map, but it's we Jedi who navigate._ _This needn't end in violence if you'll make the right choice."_

_Qui-Gon ensconced himself in the Force, finding his center in the_ _mélange_ _of Dark and Light. The two halves of the Force, diametrically opposed, each chanted a song. In his arrogance, he believed it was he who was chanting._

" _You can't train that boy," Obi-Wan said quietly. "I won't allow it."_

_Qui-Gon's blade flashed into existence. The green glow filled the whites of his eyes._

_Obi-Wan gathered his fear into one breath, and released it to the Force, and as trees take waste and recreate life, the Force cleansed his spirit so there was only Light again. He would sacrifice, terribly, as he always had._

_Silent tears rolled down his face. "You've exhausted my mercy. Conscience prevails."_

"Obi-Wan?"

Mace was holding his arm, keeping him steady. "I'm fine," said Obi-Wan. "Please, go on."

Ki-Adi-Mundi admonished, "You should be in bed, Master Kenobi."

"A moment of imbalance. It's passed now." Before it could be disputed, Obi-Wan turned to the hologram: "The descriptive text: you said the language was similar to Rakatan?"

Mace nodded. "The translation will take time. We have to keep a small circle."

"Yet you trusted Padme?" Obi-Wan mused.

"Quite frankly, we had no choice," Mundi said. "If we're going to find the artifact, we'll need transportation, credits, supplies…"

"Aren't we getting ahead of ourselves?" Obi-Wan asked. "We have a book, with a picture, and untranslated text. _Where_ exactly are you planning to go?"

Yoda turned his hover pad, peering at his friend over steepled hands. "Familiar, are you, with Palmer Trask?"

"Of course," said Obi-Wan. "He left the Jedi Order early in the war."

"Claimed, he did, the war was our doing. Meddlers, he asserted."

Obi-Wan strained to remember. "I was all of fourteen. Qui-Gon called him a coward."

"He's not a coward," Mace said, "but he may be a traitor."

Mundi tapped the console, and the hologram morphed into a large desert planet, along with an elemental summary. "The book was found on the planet Halm. According to our operative, the Sith received it by way of an archaeologist. A Lantoran man."

"Trask," surmised Obi-Wan.

Mace leaned on the console, robe falling away to reveal his tunic. "He's published about the Architects in academic journals. But he has a habit of going off-grid."

Obi-Wan wondered, "Why would one who spurns meddlers join the Sith?"

"To a man, strange things will war do," Yoda said.

"Perhaps his cooperation wasn't willing," Mundi suggested.

Obi-Wan paced, thinking of Qui-Gon. No one's immune to anger, hate. Yet the Sith aren't known to take no for an answer. "Whatever his motivations, it's our only lead."

"Agreed," Yoda said. "Launch a mission, we will, to find this Mercy Seat."

"Master Windu should lead it," Obi-Wan advised.

"No!" Yoda's vehemence was shocking. His small, strange eyes hardened into steel. "It must be you, Master Obi-Wan."

"Me? With all due respect, we should send someone stronger."

"Your self-doubt, I do not need!"

Obi-Wan threw a look at Mace, but his friend revealed nothing. He studied Yoda's withered face, creased deeper than ever. The old man's faith was utterly baffling. "May I ask why you're so adamant?"

Yoda looked at the others, and Mace and Mundi cleared from the room. Evidently it wasn't a simple answer.

Obi-Wan demanded, "Would you care to explain why you're treating me like the Chosen One?"

Yoda grunted. His hover pad rose so they stood eye to eye.

_Qui-Gon lowered his base so they stood eye to eye. His brutish grip on the saber, held at chest-level, turned his tan knuckles into five pale columns. Ataro: his favorite form. Obi-Wan knew it as well his own._

_Whereas Qui-Gon was powerful, Obi-Wan was steadfast. The apprentice was cautious, relying on stamina. His defensive style exploited mistakes. At twenty-four, he rivaled the great duelists, but his skill with the Force didn't match Qui-Gon's._

_Master and apprentice circled each other. The infinite Force crackled between them._

_Qui-Gon lunged, easily parried by Obi-Wan, who spun in time to deflect the next blow. Obi-Wan backpedaled, blocking overhand strikes._

_As they reached the stairs, Obi-Wan surprised him with a swing. Their sabers glanced off before Obi-Wan kicked him in the ribs. Then he_ _cracked him in the face with the hilt of his sword._

_Qui-Gon fell on his back, nose shattered._ _When he tried to breathe, there was only a whistle. He sucked coughing breaths through his bloody mouth._

" _Are you done?" pleaded Obi-Wan. "Will you listen to reason?"_

" _The boy needs_ me _," Qui-Gon croaked._

 _"He needs what you_ were _. Let me help you!"_

_Qui-Gon swept at his legs. Obi-Wan leapt to avoid it so Qui-Gon's saber slashed through flowers._

_Qui-Gon rolled to his feet and attacked with a Force-push. Obi-Wan hurdled back, hitting the staircase railing and dropping to the ground. His saber rolled away._

_Pain shot up his spine. He staggered to his feet. Qui-Gon lunged at him. He pierced the railing as Obi-Wan jumped to the balcony._

_Qui-Gon followed, swinging his blade like a hammer. Obi-Wan dodged, calling his own saber. He caught and ignited it in time to block the next strike._

_Qui-Gon advanced with growing frustration. He swiped and lunged, parried at every turn. Nearing the wall, Obi-Wan pinned Qui-Gon's saber to the floor. Sparks showered on both of them, singing their faces._

_Obi-Wan flipped over him, reversing positions. He kicked him in the chest, throwing Qui-Gon to the wall. Qui-Gon's saber dropped from the balcony. It disappeared in the fauna below._

_Obi-Wan's blade sizzled by his throat. The dull hum of blue plasma filled the menagerie._

_The victor's eyes were damp with sorrow._ " _Please," he whispered. "Enough now."_

* * *

Landon threw back a shot, lips pursed at its bitterness. He'd never liked drinking. But it served its purpose. How ironic that poison could make living bearable.

In the mirror behind the bar, he saw two Twi'lek thugs at the back of the cantina. How long had they been watching him?

He ordered one more shot, gulping it down. The truth is, he never thought he was a bad man. He thought he was the only good man in a galaxy of bad people. Maybe all of us think that. How else can we justify our most rank selfishness?

Landon thought about his son, wondered if his absence gave the boy a chance. He wondered if he'd learn that his father died in a bar.

He climbed off the stool. Tossing down credits, he walked to the exit. The Twi'leks walked parallel, cutting him off at the door.

One blue, one green. He knew them by reputation. Thousands of kills. Eight deposed rulers. Rumor said they burned Jedi alive. Landon never intended to get on their radar. But Neecho spent a small fortune to put them on payroll.

"Evening, gentlemen," Landon said nonchalantly.

The Blue One smiled. "Hello, Mr. Solo."

"What can I do for you?"

"Were you going somewhere?"

"I have to feed the meter. Two-hour parking."

The Green One scowled. Ech annoying barb made this even sweeter. "On behalf of Neecho, I cordially invite you to his palace on Axxila."

"I don't like long trips," drawled Landon.

"Fear not. You'll sleep the whole way."

The Green One drew his blaster. Landon dodged, and the blast killed an Elom. Her shallow snout was blown off, opening to air her oblong skull. Her furry corpse collapsed on the table.

Landon belted the Green One, knocking him down. But the Blue One pistol-whipped him and he fell to the floor. The Blue One went for the kill, but the Green One interfered, leaping on Landon to rain down punches.

Noting Landon's hurt palm, the Green One punched it. Landon screamed. He kneed him in the stomach, stealing his breath.

He grabbed the Green One's blaster, pressed it to his head, and fired through his skull. The shot ripped through—and hit the Blue One behind him.

The Green One's corpse slumped on Landon. Its head, a hollowed-out husk, dripped brains on the smuggler. The Blue One lay dead a few feet away.

Only now did fear grip Landon, stronger for its delay. His good hand was shaking, bad one bloody. His brand-new clothes were soaked deep-red.

Landon shoved off the corpse. He struggled to his feet. All eyes in the cantina centered on the smuggler. He discarded his own blaster, holstered his assassin's. He stumbled out the door to the safety of a crowd.

* * *

Malice carved the man's face with the tip of his saber. It drew a smile from Sidious, who watched through the glass. He thought how too few Sith see torture as artistry.

"He's told us everything he knows," Dooku said.

"Yes. But there's truth in his suffering."

Vader blinked at the brutality. "Now that the Jedi are aware of the artifact, how do we proceed?"

"You will assemble a team," said Sidious, "to find this artifact _before_ the Jedi."

The impatient gleam in Dooku's eyes brought Vader pleasure. Vader knew, after many false starts, that this was his chance to usurp his elder. Sidious would give him the station he deserved. "It will be done, my lord," said Vader. "I will start with the man who gave us the book."

Malice pierced the skin deeper, forming a gaping hole beneath his cheekbone. When the prisoner passed out, he withdrew in frustration.

"We shall eradicate the Jedi—once and for all," Sidious promised. After a long pause, he smiled at Vader, adding: "And we shall have peace."

* * *

"Recall, I do, the day you were brought to the temple."

"A lifetime ago," Obi-Wan mused.

Yoda ambled a few steps, turning his back. "Remember, I do, because of the feeling I had."

"What feeling?"

Yoda sighed. He leaned heavily on his cane. "When born, you were, an echo in the force I felt. And when brought to the temple, you were, much stronger did it become."

"And where did this echo lead you?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Meditated for years, I have, but I am no closer to the truth. I can only say your presence, your existence, felt… unnatural."

His friend spoke in riddles. It wasn't charming where his life was concerned. "I need more than 'unnatural,'" Obi-Wan demanded. "I was four when they brought me here. Life before that was normal. Give me _more_ , Master."

Yoda grunted sympathetically. "Strange, for you, my words must be. Surprised, I am not, that you felt none of this." He scratched his head with a clawed hand, thinking deeply. "Redundancy, your birth was. But what that means, I cannot tell you."

Obi-Wan paced a small area. He looked inside himself, but found nothing to support this cryptic assertion. There was nothing special about Obi-Wan. He wasn't wise like Yoda or powerful like Mace. He was, at best, a cog in a machine. "Why are you telling me now?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Because I know that tied to the artifact, this feeling is. Lead this mission, you must. In your hands, the fate of the galaxy is."

"Your misplaced confidence never ceases to amaze me."

"And amazed, I am, by your stubborn self-loathing!" Yoda thundered. He banged his stick on the ground, nostrils flaring. If he wasn't angry, he was dangerously close.

Obi-Wan reeled, reduced to a youngling taking his lumps. It was clear to him now Yoda's mind was made up. Whatever his own feelings, Obi-Wan didn't have a choice.

His diminutive friend regained his composure. Yoda sighed, ghosting a self-aware smile. Obi-Wan returned it unconditionally.

The young Jedi pulled on his beard, reckoning with his mandate. There was so much he felt he lacked. His only hope to fill the holes was the crew he conscripted. "I trust you'll allow me to choose my team?"

Yoda nodded.

"I need Lieutenant Crata," Obi-Wan said.

"Trust the boy, do you?"

"I'd be ashes in a cloak if not for Miler."

Yoda's ears turned down at the terrible image. "Who else?"

Obi-Wan needed people who were steadfast but flexible. They had to think for themselves but accept his leadership. In light of his mission, he needed an historian. "Knight Secura. Knight Pascal. Is Master Loma available?"

"Dead, she is," Yoda said bluntly.

In Obi-Wan's focus, the news rolled off him. He tucked the ends of his beard under his chin. "I'd like to bring a doctor."

"Perhaps, a suggestion, Senator Amidala may have."

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, leaving a pregnant pause. He felt mad for the name that sat on his tongue. But somehow he knew it was placed there by the Force.

Yoda asked, "Another selection, have you?"

"Landon Solo," Obi-Wan mumbled.

* * *

Padme woke from a deep sleep.

Dreams typically fade, but this one persisted. It seemed to have branded her. Even awake, she could picture the strange man who filled her slumber. But she wasn't afraid of him. He seemed kind and sad.

Padme sat up in bed, thinking of Obi-Wan. She needed to check on him (and sign off on the mission).

The chronometer told her she'd slept ten hours. By now, her Jedi was certainly out of bed. Gallivanting about, undoing his doctor's work.

Padme showered, obsessed with her dream. It felt so vivid. She was certain it was real: a memory long stored in the wrong part of consciousness. But why had she suppressed it? And what brought it to the surface?

Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps she saw a puzzle where there were only neurons. She needed Obi-Wan's counsel to determine the difference.

* * *

"Hello there."

Miler turned to find Obi-Wan standing behind them. "Gen'ral! You're bloody mad to be about."

"Always the martyr," Aayla teased.

"Don't start with me," said Obi-Wan. "Between Padme and the droid, I get quite enough."

Miler chuckled, but it sounded nervous. Obi-Wan wondered what he might have interrupted. He filed that for later, circling back to his purpose. His twinkling eyes became very solemn.

"Lieutenant—" Obi-Wan took a breath. " _Miler_. I haven't had a chance to tell you how grateful I am. Without you, we would surely be dead. I can't repay you for that. But know you've made a friend."

Obi-Wan extended his hand. Miler stared before shaking it: "Aye. I'm glad you're well, Gen'ral."

"I'm sorry about Eisley," Obi-Wan told Aayla. "I wish that—"

"There's nothing you could have done," Aayla said firmly. "Her outlook has improved. The doctor thinks she'll eventually recover."

"I'm relieved to hear that."

Aayla said innocently, "Senator Amidala will be pleased to see you up. I trust they cleared you for duty."

Obi-Wan would've rolled his eyes but for the weight of his mission. "There isn't time to rest," he said very grimly. "There's something I have to do. Something important. And I need your help."

Miler's eyes sparked with purpose. "Name it and it's yours."

* * *

Quinn Pascal wasn't sociable. He wore recalcitrance as an armor to protect him from judgments. As a Transdoshan, his scaly skin and reptilian head were a target for mocking. Even in the temple, he'd suffered bigotry.

He was a gifted communicator in that he distilled hard concepts. But he had no sense of etiquette. He was curt to the edge of cruelty. This prevented him from taking diplomatic missions, accepting a padawan, and rising to the rank of Master. He hardly cared, though. He preferred to study history: both in the field and at the Archives.

He was finishing a report when Obi-Wan appeared. It didn't take much convincing for Quinn to start packing.

* * *

When she arrived at the infirmary, Obi-Wan was gone. In his place was a new occupant.

Landon looked away, smelling copper from his gash, as the disapproving nurse cradled his hand.

"Are you all right?" asked Padme.

He raised his glassy eyes. "I'm fine."

"He may be fine, but he spoiled my sutures," the nurse interjected. "I have to restitch it. Probably add more."

Landon said, "Be gentle, darlin'. I'm a hero of the Republic."

"Aren't you all," the nurse mumbled.

The nurse left to find thread, giving Padme a glimpse of the injury. She flinched at the valley that halved his palm. "You'll be all right," Padme encouraged him.

Landon scowled. "Can I _help_ you, Princess?"

"I'm looking for Obi-Wan. Have you seen him?"

"Boss was gone when I got here."

Padme went to the council chamber, then Obi-Wan's office. Both trips were fruitless. Frustrated but undeterred, she sat and waited at the last place she could think of.

* * *

He shouldn't have been surprised to find her at his quarters.

"Hello there," Padme said in his accent.

Obi-Wan smiled. "Did you get some sleep?"

"Quite a lot, as it happens. What have you been doing?"

He didn't miss the accusation. "I have preparations." He entered his quarters, followed by Padme. Her stomach clenched as she realized what he meant: "Don't tell me..."

Obi-Wan said, "If you sign the request, I'll leave in the morning."

"Obi-Wan, you're in no condition to go anywhere. You shouldn't even be out of bed."

He unclipped his saber, setting them on a table. He grabbed a tablet to research the planet.

"Padme, I assure you, I am well able to stand," he said, making her feel condescended to. "And, according to this, Halm is two days' travel. I'll have plenty of time to heal in transit."

"Two days? You were _shot_! You had radiation poisoning! Two days is _not_ enough time to recover. Knowing you, you'll space-walk in hyperspace."

"That's not a bad idea. Therapeutic for the joints."

Padme's mouth pinched at the corners. "Obi-Wan, you may not care about your wellbeing—but I do. Please respect that."

His smiled faded. He sighed softly, laying a palm on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I don't intend to belittle your kindness. I'm grateful for your concern, but it is unwarranted. I'm—"

She caught him when he stumbled, watching his eyes flutter. He grasped her hip tightly to ensure he wouldn't fall. "Yes," said Padme, "you're as healthy as a bantha. Lie down, you dear fool."

Padme led him to his bedroom and guided him to bed. He groaned, placed his head on pillow, and let his eyes shut.

Padme sat in a chair beside him. She watched his face wrinkle with pain. She wished more than anything to uncoil his hurt, physically and in the spirit—but would her Jedi allow her to see that pain?

She knew he trusted her more than anyone. She'd seen him vulnerable. But he was a hypocrite about burdens. He welcomed her problems, soothed her insecurities. Yet he felt immense guilt about sharing his own. When he let weakness show—took others' comfort—it sent him spiraling into self-loathing. But as much as it angered her, she had to accept it. Selflessness and doubt were part of his makeup. Change that and you change him. She adored him as he was.

After a few minutes' silence, he rolled his head toward her. "I'm sorry, Padme."

"About what?"

"Not telling you what I knew about the war. It was difficult for me. But I couldn't allow our friendship—"

"Obi-Wan, it's okay," she interrupted. "I understand why you didn't tell me. I'm not angry with you."

His gratitude showed.

"But there's something you should know," she said firmly. "I'm coming with you tomorrow."

Obi-Wan frowned. "I think not, m'lady."

"Considering I'm supplying the credits and the ship—while secreting your mission from the Senate—your bargaining position is really quite poor."

The Jedi sighed. It was a terrible idea. Aside from his personal feelings, Padme's presence would raise their profile. "Padme, I can't allow that. You're too important to the Senate—and your absence would invite inquiry."

"I'll feign illness. We'll say I'm at the temple hospital, consulting Jedi healers."

"And your Senate obligations?"

Padme set her eyes grimly. "If the mission fails, there will be nothing to vote on."

Obi-Wan winced internally. Inevitably, she'd get her way. After a self-respecting silence, he let out a sigh. "All right. But I have conditions."

"I'm listening."

"You will not put yourself in unnecessary danger. And you will accept my leadership, the same as everyone."

"That goes without saying."

"Then welcome aboard," Obi-Wan said. He shut his eyes, scraping his face with the heel of his palm.

His pain was palpable. Without concern for his reaction, she sat down on the bed. His eyes cracked open, regarding her quizzically. She smiled gently, coaxing his head from the pillow to her lap.

"Padme?"

"It's all right. Close your eyes, okay?"

He watched her a moment before tentatively complying. Her small fingers found his temples, lightly kneading the muscles. Almost immediately, he sighed contentedly. "That's lovely," he whispered.

She rubbed in smooth circles. After a time, her hands slid to his hair. Her manicured nails raked over his scalp. His breath slowed, deepened, until at last he was asleep.

The pain lines vanished. Padme marveled at how youthful he looked. Without his beard, he'd be mistaken for a padawan.

She brushed his hair back, shutting her own eyes. And for that moment, the war didn't touch her.

* * *

Dooku stared sourly at the canvass of stars. "It's dangerous to send Vader." Sidious looked up from the console. "His power grows with each day," Dooku continued, "while his stability weakens. If he learns the Architects' secrets, we won't be able to control him."

The emperor's eyes filled with pleasure. "Lord Vader shall fulfill his destiny."

His words were certain, an outcome already viewed. It sounded like a plan hatched precreation, crystallized now after billions of years.

"What is that destiny?" Dooku asked.

Sidious smiled, showing jagged yellow teeth.

* * *

Palmer Trask was a late arrival to the temple. At age seven, he was the fifth-oldest youngling ever accepted. Yet experience judged him older.

His father, Aurelian Trask, had a dark disposition. Aurelian was a miner, digging out ore on Mimban and Mustafar, and he adopted the latter planet's volatile disposition. When he was around, which wasn't often, the house was filled with an angry miasma. Palmer's father did wrong. And his mother abided it.

The sun beat down on the old tent. He turned a crystal in his hands, cool brown eyes judging the divots. Finding it worthless, he pitched it to the sand.

Palmer raked a hand through the thin brown hair that hung wet to his shoulders. His mouth, traced by a mustache, anchored a weathered face that looked older than fifty-three.

He paused suddenly, eyes narrowed. A dark presence was approaching outside.

Palmer stood, ducking through the tent flap. He found himself staring into the eyes of Darth Vader.

"Salutations," Palmer said easily.

* * *

After three hours' sleep, Obi-Wan woke. In Padme's place was a note saying she'd gone to the Senate. After securing what they needed, she'd return to the temple. Mace had arranged quarters for the evening.

Obi-Wan left his room feeling more rested. With a less severe limp, he crossed the temple to Landon's quarters. He rang the chime outside.

Seconds later, the door slid open. Wet from a shower, but properly dressed, Landon grinned at him. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," he drawled. "They told me you were dead!"

"Is that right?"

"Either they said it, or I thought it. Either way, I guess you ain't. So congratulations."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan deadpanned. When Landon didn't move, he asked: "May I come in?"

"Sure, Boss." He led him to the living area. "Make yourself at home. After all, it's more yours than mine."

Obi-Wan sat on a chair edge, signaling a short visit. Landon reclined on the couch, his one good hand posed behind his head.

"I have a proposition," Obi-Wan said.

"The lucrative kind?"

"Not particularly, no."

Landon's tone sharpened. "What's in it for me then?"

"Probably nothing," said Obi-Wan.

"Aren't you supposed to be the Negotiator? This pitch is garbage, Boss."

"I was planning to exploit your ego," explained Obi-Wan, "but you wouldn't fall for that, would you?"

"Works well for pretty women, but you? No."

"I guess you don't care about being celebrated as a Republic hero."

The smuggler gave him a pointed look. He didn't like being played with. "Republic. Sith. Just names."

Obi-Wan nodded politely, easing off the chair. "I won't waste your time then. Sorry for having bothered you. I'll be leaving tomorrow. Lieutenant Crata and the senator, also. But you're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

He made his way to the door, feeling Landon track him. The smuggler was caught between pride and pragmatism. He hated that he needed Obi-Wan, but he knew he did. He'd just killed two people in a Coruscant bar and left his blaster at the scene. It was only a matter of time until the authorities (or more of Neecho's men) found him. Remarkably, a secret Jedi mission was the safest place to be.

Landon blew out a breath. "This better be good, Kenobi."

* * *

At the height of day, the blinds cleaved the light from Coruscant's sun, so that in shone in the room in slivers. Yoda, Mace, and Obi-Wan sat in a triangle, hunched forward contemplatively.

The Force filled the room like a separate air, no less needed or elemental. It carried dread through Mace's body. The Force had never been so imbalanced. They were hurtling toward a conflict to decide the fate of all sentients.

Mace wasn't a man to second-guess his convictions. But at the edge of oblivion, he had to allow the question: were he and the Order too arrogant? How could they have allowed the rise of Sidious, allowed so many Jedi to fall? Perhaps the worst part was that these answers didn't matter. There was no undoing their many mistakes. Their only hope was an ancient artifact and a steadfast, but not powerful, Obi-Wan.

"I sense a change coming," Mace said.

Yoda squinted his eyes. "As do I."

"I sense it also," said Obi-Wan, fear in his voice. "I believe the Sith's rise to power, all those years ago, is connected to what I'm about to do."

Mace arched an eyebrow. His friend seldom shared visions. "How?"

"I can't explain it. But I would stake my life on it."

"Strange feelings, these are," Yoda said. "Always in motion, the future is; yet so, in its own way, is the past."

The mysterious words hung in the air.

Yoda looked on the man before him, shielded from scrutiny by a beard. And his mind traveled through time. He remembered a man with longer, lighter hair; and a clean-shaven teen; and an ebullient boy who loved his master. And then he went further; he followed baby to womb, and fetus to seed, and seed to creation. But he found no answers, only affirmation of how precious the Force held him.

"Our last hope, you are, Obi-Wan."

* * *

 _The box spring creaked as Obi-Wan sat. Anakin's eyes cracked open:_ " _Master Kenobi?"_

" _Hello, Anakin." The dire voice startled the boy to alertness._

_Anakin rubbed at his eyes. "What're you doing here?"_

_Obi-Wan's forehead crinkled. He swallowed hard and stared at the ground._ " _There's something you need to know. I wanted to tell you before you sensed it."_

" _What's happened?"_

_Anakin's innocence nearly broke him. Obi-Wan fussed with the covers, opening his mouth but finding no words.  
_

_Anakin gripped the sheets tightly._ " _Is it Master Qui-Gon?"  
_

_Obi-Wan blinked back tears. He felt too lost to console Anakin. He pushed back the boy's hair and gave a small nod._

"I found you a doctor."

Obi-Wan blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I said I found a doctor," Padme repeated, worrying over his wavering attention. "He comes highly recommended from Senator Organa."

The Jedi smiled in gratitude, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Send me his information. I'll add him to the mission roster."

Obi-Wan led her to her guest quarters. By now, reports were out about her illness. He thought, for the hundredth time, about the danger she'd face. But then, she'd always been fearless.

No, not fearless. She had many fears, as do we all; she simply overcame them. She had a strong constitution well supplemented by others.

If he was honest, he felt secretly happy when she needed his strength. She supported him in kind. Courage endures on the backs of friendships.

Yet 'friendship' seemed impotent, demeaning her role in his life. What else could he call her? What else did he want to?

"Obi-Wan, can I ask you something?" He snapped from his reverie, nodding yes. "Do you think it's possible," asked Padme, "to have a memory, something you've repressed or forgotten, manifest in a dream?"

Obi-Wan studied her. "Yes. There's things we bury. Sometimes the Force, or a new trauma, can surface them."

She nodded thoughtfully. Obi-Wan stopped in front of her guest quarters. "We're here," he said.

Padme forced a smile. "Well, thank you very much, Master Jedi."

"Was there some reason you asked that—about dreams?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

Obi-Wan nodded politely. If she wanted to tell him, she would. "We should both get some sleep. We leave in the morning."

"I'll meet you at the landing pad. I left orders with Republic Intelligence to load our provisions."

"Republic Intelligence?"

"They're accustomed to secrecy. They don't ask questions like the army office."

Obi-Wan smiled bemusedly. "You are very wise, milady, and I will be pleased to have your counsel," he said, puzzling when her cheeks pinkened. "I'll leave you now to get a good night's rest."

Just barely smiling, she thumbed the door open. She held his gaze for far too long. "Sleep well, Obi-Wan."

"Sleep well, milady."


	14. Magic

It was an eerie morning on Coruscant. The sun was weaker for overnight rain. The streets were quiet, somber. Everyone shared some psychic affliction.

Obi-Wan stood on the landing pad, looking up at the Dawn Tangent. It was a fine ship, with a narrow nose, thick neck, and half-circle for a body. Its orange finish was fading, but it didn't look old.

It was perfect for their purposes, attracting neither envy nor pity.

Doctor Julian Landrieu was a either prophet or a pessimist. His equipment demands were nothing short of extraordinary.

In the doctor, Obi-Wan found a duality of kindness and arrogance. Julian spoke gently, with a dreamer's brown eyes, but described his accolades at excruciating length. Worse, he held war on a pedestal of romantic honor. Obi-Wan suspected suspected their journey would change this.

Miler and Aayla walked past, laughing intimately. Quinn trailed after them, pained by their behavior.

Obi-Wan didn't expect a harmonious journey. With these disparate passengers, the Dawn Tangent was to be a cauldron of agendas. It would take a leader to keep them together. Obi-Wan was dubious of his casting in the role.

"Hope you know what you're doing, Boss," Landon said. "I know the Jedi are stretched, but this ain't a dream team."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Well, let's see here. You've got a tortured hero—the last survivor of his squadron—a tentacled Jedi with a habit of losing mentors, the fearless doctor who thinks war is adventure, an ornery politician out of her depth, and…"

"And?"

Landon smiled darkly. "A handsome drifter who'd sell you out."

Obi-Wan watched Julian dragging scanners up the ramp. "We're not here by chance. The Force brought us together."

"I ever tell you your hocus pocus is insufferable? You think your whole life's controlled by magic. Whenever you screw up, you call it your destiny."

Obi-Wan smiled serenely, adjusted the satchel on his shoulder. "Our destinies, be they dark or light, are irrevocably linked. I suspect you'll believe in 'magic' before all this is over."

He made his way to the ship, leaving a frowning Landon staring after him.

* * *

The ship was too clean for Landon's taste. He didn't trust sterile places or immaculate people. Nevertheless, the Tangent was home now. He had no money or loved ones, no port or purpose. He carried on living as a matter as a habit.

Landon stored the essentials he'd been furnished by the Jedi. Then he wandered from his cabin through the heart of the ship.

He passed the infirmary; modest crew cabins; stellar cartography; an engineer's work room; and finally the cockpit.

He smiled upon noting a damaged panel. Soothed by the flaw, he slid into the pilot's seat, stretching his fingers before skimming the console.

"How's she look?" asked Miler.

"It'll fly. Least 'til Kenobi gets us killed."

"If ya end up dead, ya can thank that mouth a'yours."

"Maybe," Landon conceded. "But I ain't gonna die for conviction or glory." He looked Miler in the eye. "You remember one thing, kid: you look out for yourself. Won't no one else do it, Jedi or not."

Miler blinked and looked down.

* * *

Obi-Wan placed two boxes of sabers on the cargo hold floor. He'd learned his lesson on Tattooine, when he and Kit Fisto were forced to fight hand to hand.

"Hello there," he greeted Padme. "All set for our vacation?"

She rewarded him with a smile. "Must you be so glib?"

"Milady, what could be more relaxing than a desolate desert world?"

"Well, I suppose it's no worse than the Senate. But I may come to miss their dignified incompetence. Judging by our armaments, you're not planning to negotiate."

"It never hurts to be prepared."

"My Obi-Wan: pragmatic as always."

There was a long pause at her expression of possession. She held a breath until Obi-Wan smirked.

When Aayla joined them, Padme forced a posture too casual to _be_ casual.

Aayla said, "We'll be underway in a few minutes. Miler says the engines are in great shape." She smiled, adding a bad imitation: "'Damndest machinery ya ever'll see.'"

Padme cleared her throat and said, "I'll… make sure the last of our supplies was brought on board." She smiled awkwardly and left.

Aayla stared at Obi-Wan.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she said innocently.

* * *

The doctor regarded his med bay with a sense of accomplishment. It wasn't cushy, but it was _his_. No nurses, colleagues, or emergency call buttons. He was alone on the great frontier.

Miler strode in, giving a look of appreciation. "Ya made quick work of this."

"Just being prepared," said Julian. "You never know what's waiting in the dark. A doctor's work is eighty percent preparation."

"And the other twenty?"

"Kismet."

"Right. I'll try to remember that."

Julian's eyes went to Miler's collar, which had a rhombus-shaped pin. "Hmm. That's curious. Your file said _Lieutenant_ Crata."

Miler shifted uncomfortably. "I was promoted this morning. Something about 'honor under extreme conditions.'"

"Congratulations! You must be very proud."

"Yeah, I am."

"You don't _sound_ proud, but you should be," Julian insisted. "I heard what you did. Pulled them from the wreckage, got them off-planet. You quite literally carried Kenobi."

Miler smiled despite himself. "Ya got a vivid imagination."

"Don't I know it. Keeps me warm on a lonely night." Julian paused and added, "Not that I have many."

Miler rolled his eyes, imagining the doctor trolling a bar for impressionable girls. But there weren't many in deep space. "Keep that imagination, Doctor. It's gonna be a long trip."

* * *

Quinn regarded his cabin with mild disdain. He was used to spacious accommodations, both on cruisers and in the temple. Despite their vow of poverty, Jedi lived comfortably.

He sat on his bunk, examining a tablet with bios of his companions. He resolved to _know_ them before they reached Halm.

* * *

Landon looked up as Obi-Wan entered the cockpit.

"Start your pre-flight diagnostics," Obi-Wan said. "I want this ship in the air."

"What's the hurry, Boss? Ain't that magic chair of yours ancient? I'm sure it'll keep."

"We're not the only ones looking for it. And the Sith don't pause to banter."

Landon waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. Good and evil; race against time. I got it."

Obi-Wan walked from the cockpit to stellar cartography. He found Padme there smiling brightly.

"We have a last-minute addition," she said. R2D2 appeared from behind her. He looked new and polished. There was no sign of his ordeal.

"R2! Hello, old friend. I was afraid I'd lost you." His grin briefly faltered. "Wait—they didn't—"

"Wipe his memory?" finished Padme. "No, he's the same droid you remember."

Obi-Wan's grin widened. R2 could drive him to madness, but somehow his life was incomplete without the infernal droid.

A chiding whine killed the moment.

"How was I supposed to know?" Obi-Wan fired back. "Last time I saw you, you were hardly in fighting shape." He sighed at R2's low beep. "I see you're as ornery as ever."

Padme left them to their bonding. Obi-Wan and R2 studied their flight plan. The entire room was bathed in holograms, so that they stood in the midst of a massive star field. Across the middle of the room was a dotted line, leading to a tan-covered planet, which spun in the air.

The dotted line represented their route. The journey looked smooth; there were no other ships sharing their path.

"This is incredible," Julian marveled upon arriving. "The detail is extraordinary. It's like I'm floating through space."

Obi-Wan pressed a button, causing the planet's vitals to appear in the air.

"Not very hospitable, is it?" Julian remarked. "Nothing but desert and mines."

Obi-Wan said, "The kind of place that has secrets. When you bury something beneath rock and dust, few have mettle to look for it."

"Nothing can hide forever."

"No. Not from me."

* * *

Landon flipped three switches. "Rocket boosters online. Everything reads normal."

"Control tower, this is DT-1," Miler said into the radio. "Request permission to depart."

After a moment, a voice replied: "Permission granted, DT-1. You're all clear. Have a safe flight."

As the ship eased off the ground, Obi-Wan joined them. The Tangent pressed through the clouds, then the stratosphere, before sliding into space.

"Prep the hyperdrive," said Miler. "Another five thousand kilometers and we're in the clear."

Landon bristled at being ordered. "Sure thing, _Captain_."

"There's still time to turn around. I'd be happy to drop ya off."

"Now why would I want that? I'm honored to take orders from a Republic icon."

"Then again, I could toss ya out the airlock."

"Kid, you don't shut up and I'll—"

"Gentlemen," Obi-Wan interjected, "can we have a little decorum in here, please?"

Landon snarled but continued his work. Miler angled around, correcting course. The ship gave a slight jerk as the hyperdrive powered on.

"We're in the clear," said Miler.

Obi-Wan stared into the great unknown. "By all means, Captain…"

The Dawn Tangent leapt forward into hyperspace.


	15. The Horsemen

The trip to Halm was uneventful.

Miler spent most of it playing sabacc with Julian. He found the good doctor glib but considerate. After light resistance, he conceded friendship. Meanwhile, very late at night, Miler talked with Aayla, sitting at the bar but without any liquor. It was warm, friendly, and sometimes awkward.

R2 studied the ancient texts but failed to decipher them. To say it bruised his programming was putting it mildly.

At Padme's urging, Obi-Wan rested in his quarters. She kept him company, the two telling old stories shared and unique. When he was nearly asleep, she would even read to him. Surely Padme was meant for marriage and motherhood.

Having admired his work, Aayla was relentless trying to befriend Quinn. The reptilian rebuked her, mostly staying in his cabin.

When they arrived at the planet, Obi-Wan entered the cockpit with Miler and Landon.

"Any Sith warships?" asked Obi-Wan.

Miler replied, "If they're here, they're incognito."

"Keep your eyes open. But set us down in the capital. We shouldn't try to hide; that could prompt an inquiry."

"Good thinkin', Boss," Landon drawled. "How 'bout the Sith Embassy? We'll drop by with some wine, learn about the Dark Side."

"We can't sneak around the entire mission," Obi-Wan said. "Besides, Halm's a neutral planet. The Sith won't make trouble. They're trying to annex the planet."

Miler shook his head. "Why don' they bloody conquer it like everywhere else?"

"Sidious knows his history. Every empire in the galaxy tried to conquer Halm. But its people are hearty. The desert's endless. You could spill blood forever and never claim victory."

"Why does everyone want it?

"Anthracite. Cheapest fuel in the galaxy," Obi-Wan explained. "If Halm breaks its neutrality and sells exclusively to the Sith…"

Miler's mouth set in a grim line. "We've received clearance. Beginning approach."

* * *

The Dawn Tangent set down in Metano, Halm's third-largest city. Aside from being the capital, it was unique in that it wasn't propped up by the mining industry. The surrounding area had been stripped to its bones. The hills held nothing but sand and ghosts.

The crew gathered in stellar cartography.

Landon said, "Boss, I ain't one to critique fashion, but ya'll look a little… mystical."

"We can't hide that we're Jedi," Aayla said. "It won't bother the average Halman."

"Sure. Whatever you say. Just walk in front of me, yeah?"

"I'm more worried you'll meet an ex-associate," Obi-Wan countered. "So why don't we all just pay attention?"

Padme watched the exchange passively. She was beginning to think Landon was more trouble than he was worth.

"Gen'ral," said Miler, "how exac'ly do ya plan t'find Trask?"

"We'll start at City Hall. If Trask is here lawfully, his dig will be registered."

"And if it's not?" asked Julian.

"One step at a time, Doctor," Obi-Wan replied, before he turned to address everyone: "Someone should stay here. In case the locals get curious."

His call for volunteers went unanswered. Finally, Quinn said, "Frankly, Senator Amidala shouldn't even be here. She lacks the requisite skills."

Padme scowled. "And just what 'requisite skills' am I lacking?"

"You are good at what you do," Quinn condescended. "But there are things out there you can't kill with a speech."

Obi-Wan swallowed a rebuke, allowing Padme the dignity of her own defense.

She said, "It's true I haven't killed. I'm terrible with a blaster. But I possess in abundance what you sorely lack: poise." She matched his condescending tone: "Did your master skip a lesson?"

Quinn's eyes were like steel. "You don't know me," he growled.

"You're right; I don't. So let's keep our impressions to ourselves and get on with the mission."

Obi-Wan smiled disarmingly. "R2, why don't you keep an eye on things? I'll need Quinn's and milady's skills to accomplish my task."

Perceiving his plea, R2 beeped helpfully.

"We should split into groups," Julian said. "We look like a rugby team."

Obi-Wan agreed. He couldn't hide that they were Jedi, but he could stop them from sticking out.

* * *

Vader sat cross-legged on the floor of the meditation chamber.

The ancient book lay open before him. Radiating power, it held more secrets than merely the Mercy Seat. Anger, hate rose as steam from the ink.

Vader's mind was a cauldron of grievances. Everyone who'd ever wronged him was part of the stew. Obi-Wan's betrayal. Padme's cruelty. His subjugation to Sidious. For far too long, the Chosen One had waited. He'd accepted humiliation in anticipation of the day he'd reciprocate tenfold. And now, in his twenty-fourth year, he'd pay back the misery imposed by the Force.

Obi-Wan would lay in a pool of his own blood. Sidious' skin would melt from his bones. Padme would worship him, or he'd hack her to pieces, paint the stars with her entrails. After slaughtering all those who had stood in his way, he'd move on to the innocent. Those who did nothing. Simply because he could.

His eyes were shut lightly.

_In the dawn of your rage, you must choose three horsemen to ride beside you. Only through your combined hatred can you unlock immortality. Let the darkness flow through your body, gain its own intelligence, so that it may instruct you on the slaughter of your enemies. You must surrender to its vicious being to achieve ultimate power._

A serpent coiled around his mind's eye. The Darkness. The Vicious Being. He was its chosen suitor. He and his horsemen would release it from its cage, draw strength from its intellect. Together, they'd destroy every vestige of civilization.

_Whereas the Light grovels before the Soul of the Universe, the Dark wills creation outside the Soul's bounds.  
_

Vader trembled before this revelation. There was no greater power than to control creation. By learning this ability, Vader'd be a god. He'd have anything he wanted, including Padme Amidala in service or anguish.

* * *

Just past City Hall, partially obscured by a punishing sun, he saw a modest embassy that belonged to the Republic.

"I have no time for bureaucrats," Obi-Wan lamented. "But they could be a problem."

Padme smiled wryly. "I think a visit from a Republic senator could keep them distracted."

Obi-Wan considered this. Given the steady stream of Sith diplomats, and the Republic's neglect, Padme's visit might garner enthusiasm. "Take Miler and Aayla," he suggested.

"Expecting trouble?"

"Just watch your back."

Padme swept her eyes over the weather-beaten buildings. She saw nothing, felt nothing, and she wondered suddenly at Jedi's threshold for madness. How they could stand it: seeing shadows over everything? She was deeply grateful the Force forsook her.

* * *

City Hall was cleaner, more modern than most of Matano. Judging by the knocked-out walls awaiting replacement, this was a recent change.

Obi-Wan, Quinn, and Julian climbed the front steps. They were paved with gold and had an intricate railing. The faces of desert animals were carved into the banisters.

Julian raised an eyebrow. "A bit bombastic, isn't it?"

"A gift from the Sith," Obi-Wan surmised.

"They could've started with the basics—like helping the poor."

"The rulers take the spoils. That's the first thing they teach you in Despot School."

Julian turned to Quinn. "Is it like that where you come from? The rich people, and the rest of you?"

"Where I come from, there is no currency," the reptile said grimly. "The strong survive; the weak die."

Julian squinted and frowned. "Sounds charming."

Obi-Wan smirked, patting his back. "This way, gentlemen."

* * *

The clerk was portly but beautiful. Her rosy cheeks were wrinkled with smile lines, a real achievement on a barren world.

"It's a bit unusual what you're requesting," she said cheerfully. "We have the information, of course, but it's not public record. Are you asking on behalf of the Jedi Council?"

"It's a personal matter," said Obi-Wan. "Palmer Trask is… an old friend of ours."

"Well, I'm terribly sorry, sir. I'd like to help you, but I can't divulge this information without a request from a governing body."

Obi-Wan made to reply when Julian slid past him. The doctor leaned toward the clerk with a flirtatious smile.

"Darling, I know it's unusual," Julian said sympathetically, "but the thing about it is: Palmer knows we're coming. He just forgot to send the details. I hate to picture him all alone on this dig. He could be in danger."

The clerk's will began to waver, causing Obi-Wan to discreetly roll his eyes.

Julian pressed on: "I couldn't bear it if he were hurt, dear. And with the desert raiders out there, I'm truly worried." He looked about, checking for eavesdroppers, and said quietly: "I can't imagine how the Republic would react if an archaeologist were to die just because the planetary authority refused to tell us where he was."

The clerk's hands fiddled nervously. It wouldn't look good if something were to happen. And as a woman of conscience, she couldn't live with guilt. She looked at the doctor, his handsome face creased imploringly.

"Well… I guess… you are his friends after all," she said.

"You're a dearheart," said Julian. He smirked sidelong at Obi-Wan, who couldn't hide a smile.

* * *

Landon was waiting outside. "Did you get it?"

Obi-Wan handed him a data pad. "Twenty miles east in the Carmata Dunes. Did you find a speeder?"

"Yeah. Piece of junk, but it'll do."

They marched down the steps, trying not to draw attention. Quinn, receiving stares for his appearance, regarded the locals disdainfully.

Obi-Wan followed his thinking. "I wouldn't take offense. There's a scorpion on this world that looks quite like you."

"It's a handsome creature," Julian added.

Quinn glared but said nothing.

As they headed toward the speeder, Landon eyed Obi-Wan. "What's your plan, Boss? 'I'm here; I'm Jedi; tell me your secrets'?"

"That's the general idea," Obi-Wan said.

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Then I guess we'll have a problem."

Landon turned to Quinn. "Are you sure this guy's your master strategist?"

* * *

There was no grandeur about the embassy. The marble floors were cracked, the walls were dotted with grime, lights in the uninhabited areas were shut off to conserve power, and only a skeletal staff remained.

"Not much to look at it, is it?" Padme remarked.

"With the war going so badly," Aayla said, "resources are scarce on the outer rim."

Padme's committee was responsible for the embassies. She'd been starving them of credits to better fund the war.

"I've seen worse, ma'am," Miler assured her. "Leas' it ain't abandoned. I had to search for survivors at our Dramor embassy." His eyes clouded with memory. "Didn't find any, naturally. Nothin' creepier than an empty buildin' with all the lights flickerin'."

Padme smiled affectionately. "When the first light flickers, we'll take our leave."

They walked to the front desk, run by a lanky, middle-aged man. He peered glumly through his wire-rimmed spectacles. "Welcome to the Republic Embassy. What is the nature of your business?"

"I'm Senator Amidala of Naboo. I'm here to see the ambassador."

He stood up straighter. "Greetings, Senator. I don't believe we were expecting you."

"It was a last-minute diversion. I wished to check on our dealings with the Halman government."

"Well," the man said, "Ambassador Mothma is very busy. I'll have to see if she's available."

Miler frowned. "Surely the ambassador can make time for a galactic senator."

A female voice from the hallway replied: "Surely I can."

Mon Mothma strode in confidently. She was a tall, slender woman, with auburn hair held up by an elaborate headpiece. She was strength; she was compassion; she was not unlike Padme.

"Mon Mothma," Padme said warmly, "it has been far too long."

"At least two years by my count."

"I didn't realize you'd been assigned here. Last I heard, you were an adviser in the chancellor's office."

Mothma smiled ironically. "Not many cared for my counsel, or the manner in which I provided it. They thought it was safer to hide me in the outer rim, where my tongue could not harm them." There was a flicker of self-pity that she quickly cast aside. "I don't believe I know your associates."

Padme gestured to each of them. "This is Captain Miler Crata, and Jedi Knight Aayla Secura."

"I'm always pleased to meet heroes," the ambassador said. "Come. We will discuss what has brought you here."

* * *

_The Four Horsemen will cause great suffering. At the altar of your strength, masses tremble. You will be brothers in destruction of all which is opposed._

Vader's eyes slipped open. Three distinct signatures registered behind him.

There was Darth Malice, the disfigured torturer Sidious prized. With him were Darth Demic and Darth Wrath.

Demic was handsome. Gray eyes and a chin cleft anchored his face. His hair was stubbly, revealing light wrinkles. At six feet three inches, with broad, strong shoulders, he made good on his threats.

Wrath, a Kel Dorian man, stood starkly in contrast. His nose and mouth weren't separate; there was one gaping hole through which he smelled and breathed. Rather than teeth, he had drooping strands of flesh and a hard palette that couldn't be seen from the outside. His beady black eyes were dotted with silver irises. His ridged skull had small masses terminating in black tusks.

Oxygen and carbon dioxide were fatal to Kel Dorians. To accommodate his needs, Wrath wore a black breath mask. When he spoke, which wasn't often, his voice was harshly modulated.

Demic stepped forward. "You asked to see us, my Lord."

Vader maintained his meditation pose.

_Learn from the Wise's One's mistakes, he who became immortal but failed in his quest to dominate all. Obey the Dark Intelligence or your power will be fleeting._

"What have you been told about?" Vader asked.

"There is an ancient artifact that would destroy our enemies," Demic said. "We must find it before the Jedi."

Vader was silent. He skimmed their minds, avoiding detection with techniques learned from Sidious. What he saw there pleased him.

In Demic's mind, hate and fear stretched taut around a childhood memory, trapping it in his soul so there could no healing. Demic was devious, but he had a sense of loyalty; his evil was not applied to brothers of the cause.

Wrath was a blunt instrument. He did possess intellect but had no interest in its exercise. His mind was a corridor; he opened doors in search of enemies and an empty room made him hungrier. Whereas most sentient beings, even Sith, find peace in quiet, Wrath's serenity was derived from chaos.

Malice was still a mystery. Vader distrusted fallen Jedi, but Malice proved his passion. His mind was a temple of dark thoughts, elegant and simple, and patterned on the great truth: the strong are born to dominate the weak.

"The Mercy Seat is a means to power," Vader said, "but there are other, better means. I've discovered a well of unlimited strength."

After a pregnant silence, Demic said, "There is more to our mandate than what was described."

"Forget your mandate," said Vader, voice low and inviting. "This book holds a greater truth. It's a gateway to areas even the Sith may deem… unnatural."

"You've unlocked the book's secrets?" Malice asked.

Vader grinned, rising up, but still he didn't look at them. "This alchemy requires four strong in the Dark Side. I believe that, together, we can retrieve a power as ancient as time. A power so great we will be looked upon as gods."

Wrath felt his loins stir, yet the promise rang false. "Power is not shared among Sith."

" _Gods_ do not answer to the Sith!" Vader growled. "From this day forward, we are not Sith lords. We are the Four Horsemen of Darkness." His voice grew louder as the notion took hold. "We will be immortal. I don't mean our _essence_ ; these _bodies_ will never die. We will rule this galaxy with an iron hand. Even kings will worship us. When we've brought order to the galaxy, and wrought suffering on our subjects, we'll expand our empire across the universe."

"And what of Lord Sidious?" Demic asked. "And Count Dooku?"

Vader turned, framed harshly in the light. "This is not their destiny. The book filled their eyes through the fog of ignorance."

"You speak in riddles!" Malice snarled.

"There are no riddles," said Vader. "Only answers, and the promise."

"The promise of what?" Wrath demanded.

A slow grin spread over Vader's face. The warmth of a dark memory filled the chambers of his mind.

Perhaps, the same way some people are basically good, there are others born evil. Could it be that nurture is illusion, that evil simply can't manifest until a boy has come of age? There was no struggle in Vader between what he was and what others wished for him. These are terrifying thoughts, whatever you believe.

Vader said, "Sidious summoned our greatest thinkers: historians, linguists, mathematicians. But none could decipher the book."

Malice probed Vader's mind but found it blank. Not even Sidious could do that.

Vader went on, "When all was still, and our leaders slept, I retired to my quarters to study the book. After many hours, I slipped into a trance." His voice was low, guttural, yet full of reverence. "I lay my gaze ahead of me into a cold red miasma. And there in the vapor was a gnarling beast. He stared into my eyes and whispered, 'You will read the words, my son. Your mind will understand them. The ancient power will be revealed, for this is your destiny…'"

Vader's eyes burned. "He said, ' _ **You**_ **,** Anakin, are the beast— _and it is time that you are_ _ **fed**_ _!_ '"

* * *

The entire planet was endless desert. They saw the remnants of old mining camps—leftover tents—but not a single living being.

It reminded Obi-Wan of Tattooine, where he and Qui-Gon had pursued Darth Maul. They didn't find him; instead, they met a child who would change the course of history.

Landon parked at the edge of the dig site. Sand-beaten tents were surrounded by crates.

The four men climbed out of their speeder. Obi-Wan and Quinn unclipped their sabers.

Landon frowned. "Boss, I don't know what you think—"

Two Sith leapt out from behind the dune, striking from above. Obi-Wan and Quinn fell into fighting stances. The Sith were skilled but outclassed. Obi-Wan blocked and parried and, after his opponent's missed jab, spun behind him and cut off his head.

Quinn impaled the other Sith, slashed his chest for good measure. The corpse fell to the sand.

Julian gawked at the carnage. The disembodied head rolled to his instep.

Landon said, "You have your answer about Trask."

"I don't think they were protecting him," Obi-Wan said. "I believe they were spies."

"If you believe that, I've got real estate on Dagobah…"

"Let's just see what the man says."

The first three tents flapped in the wind, holding only supplies. When they neared the fourth, Palmer Trask walked into the light. He ran a hand through his thin hair, slick with sweat, and received his guests with an eerie smile.

"Hello there," Obi-Wan said.

"Welcome," Palmer returned in a cold, throaty brogue. "What brings you gentlemen to my home?"

"Your home?" Julian asked. "You actually… live here?"

Palmer chuckled darkly. "In a manner of speaking. I prefer a wet climate, somewhere brushy, where things disappear. But home's a feeling, not a place. Isn't that what they say? I feel things wherever I go."

"And how do you feel about the Sith?" Obi-Wan asked.

Palmer looked at the bodies. "Passionate people. Cruel intentions."

"And what are your intentions, Palmer Trask?"

"Why, I seek knowledge, of course."

Obi-Wan skimmed the surface of his mind, but entry was refused.

Palmer chuckled insidiously, wagging a finger. "Tsk tsk tsk. That wasn't very polite." He raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. "You see, I'm a window: too hard to break, too dark to look into. Those tricks don't work on me."

Landon sighed. "Look, bozo: I'm not in the mood for riddles. So let's cut to the chase."

Palmer smiled lazily. "Let's."

"Has anyone been here recently?" Obi-Wan asked. "Someone looking for an artifact… asking about the Architects?"

For the first time, the blast doors lifted from Palmer's eyes. He studied Obi-Wan with the same ferocity he applied to ancient ruins. There was something preternatural about his gaze; it seemed to tunnel through space and time.

After a pregnant pause, he said: "You must be Obi-Wan Kenobi."


	16. Parallel Force

"How do you know my name?" Obi-Wan demanded.

"The Force has a way of filling in the blanks," Palmer demurred. "But it doesn't know everything. So help me out: what brings you to the desert?"

Obi-Wan despaired. This wasn't the man Mace described. The ex-Jedi slithered between every honeyed word. "I'm looking for a book," Obi-Wan said.

Palmer grinned. "I believe I _did_ have one of those. But I'm afraid I gave it away."

"To the Sith?"

"What if I did?"

"Then you're a _traitor_ ," Quinn gnarled.

"A traitor to what?" Palmer shot back. "I don't wear your robes, Master Jedi. Betrayal requires bonds I severed long ago."

Obi-Wan said, "Surely your disillusionment with the Jedi could not blind you to the Sith."

"You think I care about your little war, one way or the other?"

"You should!" Julian growled. "The entire galaxy is at stake!"

Palmer shook his head mildly. "It's a crime so few remember their history," he directed at Obi-Wan. "You see, I know where we've been. I've studied our ruins."

He smeared dust between his fingers. "Five thousand years ago: the Great Hyperspace War. The Sith struck out with evil intent, but they were driven back and killed. When Exar Kun slaughtered everything that moved, the Jedi Council thought they were living in the End Times."

"This is different," Obi-Wan said. "The Mercy Seat is—"

"An ancient weapon of unimaginable power. Don't you think that's what they said when Revan found the Star Forge?"

"Is there a point in our future?" Landon wondered.

Palmer smiled coldly. "Evil often wins, but it seldom conquers. Even after five thousand years." He squinted at Obi-Wan. "So, yeah, my man: when a band of Sith Lords rolls up and asks, 'What's it gonna be—your life or this book?' I don't carry the galaxy on my back."

"You're a coward," Quinn said.

"It's more shameful to deny fear than it is to run from danger."

There was nothing to hold onto. Every word was in shadow. Obi-Wan approached him with diminished patience. "What else did you give them? Did you translate the book? Show them anything else?"

Palmer never seemed to blink. Very slowly, he crouched beside a crate. His jacket bunched on one side to reveal an old lightsaber. When he turned back, he was holding a parchment. "There's something I didn't show them. Something special. Something only meant for Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan was still. "Show me," he demanded.

* * *

"Negotiations have stalled," Mon Mothma admitted. "The Sith provide them millions in aid, while we offer Halm nothing."

Padme smiled sympathetically. "I wish there was something we could do."

"The time has passed. It won't be long before the Sith annex Halm."

"It's that dire?"

"The Sith have expanded their embassy five square miles. Supposedly to accommodate additional diplomats. But we've seen the transports."

Miler glowered. "And we're lettin' it happen? They'll own the whole sector. The outer rim will _fall_!"

Mothma leaned on her desk. Her worthless mandate compressed her shoulders. "If there was something I could do, believe me: I would."

Padme felt a rush of pity, unwanted by its recipient. What pain in the realization that you simply aren't useful.

"There's still a way to win this war," Aayla reminded them. "It's why we've come here, Ambassador."

Mothma straightened in her chair.

They didn't tell her the whole truth, but they told her enough.

* * *

Vader approached the embassy command center. He had preparations to make. He'd seek key generals' support to complete his coup against Sidious without a civil war, preserving Sith infrastructure. This would allow him to pivot to destroying the Republic.

"Lord Vader!"

He swiveled back to a low-ranking officer. The young man reported: "I have word from our agent in the Republic embassy. Senator Padme Amidala signed the visitor log. She and a small contingent are meeting with Ambassador Mothma."

Vader's jaw tightened. In his mind's eye, he saw Padme opposite the bureaucrat, looking too regal for her surroundings.

Despite Halm's importance, the Republic wouldn't send a senator to a dangerous outpost. There was only one reason to risk her safety: she was here to access the dig site. And she'd get her way, as she always did. Soon Republic researchers would claw at Halm's innards and find the secrets of the Architects.

Vader's rage began to rise. While he knew he and his Horsemen could defeat this 'Mercy Seat,' he could end the threat now and crush the Jedi's hope. "Tell Commander Argyle to prepare his forces for immediate deployment."

"Which squadrons, my lord?"

Vader looked out the window. Beyond wisps of sand blowing through the courtyard, the city awaited. "All of them."

* * *

Palmer led them through the abandoned mine. Their only light was a small beam from his palm beacon.

It was cold down here. The stench of death was strong. Countless miners had perished in these corridors.

Two miles down, Obi-Wan asked: "How much further?"

Palmer made a show of examining his map. "Not far. There's a fork up ahead; we'll follow it right."

"How do we know you're not leading us into a trap?" Landon asked.

Palmer let out a breath that may have been a laugh. No one could see his face. He angled the light to remain in shadow. "Trust me," he said.

Obi-Wan searched with the Force, perceiving no living beings. But the Dark Side was deceptive, and this cavern was touched by it.

"The air's getting stale," Julian remarked.

"That means we're close," Palmer assured him, before glancing at Obi-Wan. "I would've thought you could sense it by now. But you don't feel a thing, do you?" The young Jedi frowned at him. "No matter. We'll be there soon enough."

* * *

Palmer had a sinewy strength that often surprised you. Moving a small boulder, he revealed the crawlspace into the chamber.

He entered first, then Obi-Wan and the others. It was total blackness, except for Palmer's beacon, which he set on the ground.

Before its recent rediscovery, the chamber was vacuum-sealed for myriad millennia. Now there was air to breathe, but it tasted foul.

"Someone wanna turn the lights on?" Landon quipped.

With a soft hiss, Palmer's saber ignited, and his smile glowed purple.

He walked to the near wall. There was a deep groove in the rock face, filled with cloth, that circled the chamber. Palmer touched it with his saber.

A low flame ignited, spreading each way to make a ring around the chamber. It was enough light to see everything. The ceiling was transformed into a map of the galaxy. The walls told a story in writing and pictograms.

Julian grinned boyishly. The colors had faded, but it was no less spectacular. He swept his eyes across the chamber, turning in a circle. "This is unbelievable," he marveled. "I've neither seen anything like it."

Obi-Wan grabbed Palmer's beacon, scanning the rock face. He took a few steps to Quinn's side. "What do you make of it?"

"It fits the book," Quinn said. "Elements of Rakatan, some other dead languages. The pictograms are consistent with Ancient Halmese. So at least some of this was done by the natives' ancestors."

Obi-Wan faced Palmer: "And you? Can you read all this?"

"Come on, man," Palmer chuckled eerily. "That all you notice: pictures and words? Listen to the sound: the echo of people."

Julian asked, "Are you talking about ghosts?"

"There's no such thing. Not like you think," Palmer said. "Past, present, and future: they aren't separate places. People invented time just to keep from hearing voices."

Obi-Wan shined the beacon on a new area of the wall. There was an image of two priests standing at an altar.

Julian cleared his throat. "For those of us who aren't… in touch with the spirit world, why don't you start there?"

Palmer walked to the middle of the chamber. He glanced all around, as if maybe he'd forgotten.

"If you go far enough forward," he mused, "all of history is accused of being myth. If we don't like how it was written, maybe it didn't happen. But I can tell you that the Architects were real. They were the first true sentients. And five million years ago, they set out into space."

Obi-Wan moved the beacon to a disc-shaped craft.

"They wanted to explore—make contact," Palmer said. "But there was no one out there. No one worth talking to. Every race was primitive. They were the first to ask the question: what's the point? Why are we here?"

"Asking myself that right now," Landon mumbled.

"Eventually they stopped wondering where they came from. They took the mantle of creator for themselves. They built cities covering planets; they made the hyperspace routes we use to this day. Every vestige of civilization is owed to their ingenuity."

Obi-Wan shifted the beacon. Beneath some writing he couldn't decipher, there were drawings of many species—Iridonians, Killiks, Columi, Humans—crawling out of swamps toward a humanoid figure holding up shackles.

"But it wasn't enough to build _things_ ," Palmer said. "Power is meaningless when there's no one to lord it over. So they went back to those planets. And left pieces of themselves—a foundation for intelligence."

Julian squinted at the drawing. "Are you saying that we—all of us, the whole galaxy—are an experiment? We didn't develop naturally?"

Palmer smiled devilishly. "You say that like it's a bad thing, Doctor. Aren't you glad to know your origin? All our ancestors walked out of the same swamp."

"Out of the swamp—and into slavery," Quinn said.

Everyone's eyes were on the humanoid holding shackles.

"Expansion requires sacrifice," Palmer said. "But if you're wise and strong, you decide who pays the cost."

Obi-Wan dragged the light along an ecumenopolis. "Their empire: how far did it reach?"

"It was limitless. The core worlds. The outer rim. Even the unknown regions. Wherever there was life, the Architects were known."

On one of the other walls, a limestone temple brilliantly glittered beneath a sky with three suns. Men in white and black cloaks stood at the base of it. They held long brown staffs punctuated at the top by glowing spheres. Could these have been the progenitor to the lightsaber?

"They knew the ways of the Force," Obi-Wan said.

"Some. Use of the Force was restricted to priests. Commoners and slaves were punished for its exercise."

Julian scowled. "They sound thoroughly deplorable. All that technology—all that influence—but not an ounce of conscience."

"Conscience is in the eye of the beholder," Palmer said. "You spray your house for insects, you call it fumigation. To the insects? It's a holocaust."

"That's a damn fine rationalization, but that's _all_ it is."

Obi-Wan patted the doctor's shoulder. "Point taken." He squinted at Palmer: "Their robes… black and white…"

"Disagreements developed. For over a hundred thousand years, 'Levolents' were the dominant group. They used the Dark Side to drive the empire's expansion. Eventually, there was nothing else to conquer. So they turned to other realms. They wished to control the incorporeal. That's when a new group emerged. They called themselves the 'Mercians.'"=

"A civil war," Obi-Wan surmised.

"The Mercians believed it their duty to follow the will of the Force. The Light Side. They opposed imperialism, demanded freedom for the slaves. Eventually, they won over the prime minister." Palmer smiled, amused by it all. "The empire fell into chaos. Most of the planets stood with the Levolents. The war seemed hopeless for the Mercians, until the slaves rose up and evened the odds."

Julian's eyes raked over the war's depictions. His face narrowed and wore down to the sharpest depressions. "Mad men," he murmured. "The whole lot of them."

Obi-Wan studied the wall closely. His mind's eye and Palmer's words formed an illusion of experience.

"Before," he said slowly, putting something together, "you mentioned 'other realms'—controlling the incorporeal. What did you mean by that?"

"The Levolents were masters of the Dark Side. And there was one man in particular, one whose name wasn't recorded, as if even in life he was a spirit not to summon. One Levolent who knew secrets we can't imagine."

"What secrets?" Obi-Wan demanded.

Palmer laughed breathily. He was so cold, so deliberate and passionless. " _The_ secrets. He walked behind the curtain. Saw the workings of existence. He took up creation like an author's imagination."

Obi-Wan cocked his head. "The Force. He became—not _one_ with it, but parallel," he said, eyes shining with realization. "He influenced the midichlorians to—what? Create life? Steal it?"

"That's a start."

"What happened then? A coup? He took over the Empire?"

"Don't think so small," Palmer chided. "Why would a man sit down to fish if he had the power to drain the pond?"

He watched Obi-Wan with interest, finding such depth in him. For most people, it's their brain that does the work; for others, it's the heart. But Obi-Wan's activity was centered in the soul. It pumped thought and feeling like water from a well.

"That's what you meant by incorporeal," Obi-Wan said. "The Levolents wanted to transcend their bodies. And this Nameless One: he actually did it. He became timeless. He became a focal point of beginnings and endings, like the Force."

Palmer nodded approvingly.

Landon groused, "What the hell does this have to do with a magic chair?"

Obi-Wan shined the light on a Mercian meditating—surrounded by smoky shapes that looked like unformed humans.

"The Mercians worshiped the Force," Palmer said. "They could accept the Dark Side; they could accept that justice, while constant, sometimes moves backwards. But they'd never accept something outside the Force."

"So they created the Mercy Seat," Quinn suggested, "as a means to oppose the Nameless One."

Julian furrowed his brow. "Okay—" He paused to shake his head. "That makes sense on… some level. But what's its function? What does the Mercy Seat _do_?"

Palmer only smiled. "When you know that, you'll know everything."

Julian turned to the ceiling. Filled with drawings of star systems, it was a primitive planetarium.

"What's all of this?" the doctor asked.

"The Mercy Seat was constructed on a planet said to be a 'nexus' of the Force. A point of convergence," Palmer said. "It was a planet deep in the unknown regions. Almost impossible to get to. But a small group of Mercians created a narrow hyperspace route through the asteroids and debris."

He gestured to another planet back in known space. "When they returned home, they told no one what they'd done. There were rumors, of course. But those who knew the Mercy Seat's location took it to their graves. The hyperspace coordinates were written only once: on a stone tablet. It was hidden away in a Mercian sanctuary."

"What happened to it?" Quinn asked.

"During the war, the sanctuary came under siege. The Levolents found the tablet. There was a struggle, and the tablet cracked in two. The Levolents took one piece; the Mercians escaped with the other." Palmer gestured to a part of the ceiling too badly corroded to make anything out. "I can't tell you where the first piece ended up. The writing there: you can see it's damaged."

"And the other piece?" asked Obi-Wan.

"The Mercians' piece ended up in the outer rim. Today, we call the planet Mareth."

"Then that's where we start."

Julian blanched. " _Mareth_? You can't be serious about going there. It's under quarantine!"

"What are you talking about?" Landon asked. "What quarantine?"

"Ten years ago, there was a planet-wide plague," explained Julian. "The Republic set up a defense grid. No one can get through."

Obi-Wan stared at the drawing before switching off the beacon. He regarded the men calmly. "We'll have to find a way through. There's no other choice."

"There's _always_ a choice," Landon balked.

"I will not allow this galaxy to fall to the Sith," Obi-Wan said sternly. " We all know the stakes. We _must_ find the Mercy Seat. And the road starts at Mareth."

He wasn't only _the Negotiator_ for his ability to foster truces. Everyone was silent.

Landon scowled and glanced off.

"Do the Sith know about the tablet?" Obi-Wan asked Palmer.

"Not yet," said Palmer. "But it's only a matter of time until they find this chamber."

Obi-Wan scanned the rock for weak points. "What would it take to destroy this?"

"Not much. Three—maybe four proton charges."

Landon sighed. Reaching into his pouch, he produced a stout metal cylinder. He held the permacrete detonator for Obi-Wan's inspection. "Will this do?"

Julian frowned. "Do you carry that everywhere?"

* * *

A thousand soldiers blocked the horizon.

They marched behind the Four Horsemen in perfect synchronicity. Rifles were drawn, held parallel to their bodies. The glare from the sun washed out their faces. This anonymity made them all the more frightening.

The natives peered through windows and alleys. For years, Halm's people had been diplomatically courted; they'd worn as a cloth the sense of their own importance. That was all gone now.

Vader imbibed their fear, feeling aroused. Perhaps in his psyche, some wires were crossed. Or maybe fear is a kind of intimacy. Whatever its source, he felt pleasure and power.

The Republic embassy waited in the distance.

* * *

The Lanky Man threw the door open. His eyes were wild behind slanted glasses. "Ambassador!"

"What is it?" Mothma demanded.

"Outside! Something—" He shook his head to clear it. "Something's happening."

They followed him to the lobby. Looking out the glass panels, they found a sea of black and gray. Aayla could _feel_ Vader at the helm. Even without the Force, Padme knew, too. The entire war flashed in front of them.

"We have t'go!" Miler barked. "Is there another way out? An evacuation route?"

Mothma blinked rapidly. "Y-yes. Yes. There's an underground exit."

"Where?"

"There's a false floor panel in the staff quarters," the Lanky Man said. "We'll take a tunnel to the landing pad."

"What about the others?" Padme asked.

"We're no good to 'em dead!" said Miler. He spun the Lanky Man around. "Move your ass, lad!"

With a final glance at Vader's army, the Lanky Man obliged. "This way!" He turned a corner—only to meet three men. They cracked him in the face, knocking him to the ground.

Miler moved to help him, but their guns warned him off. The Lanky Man writhed, cradling his chin.

Mothma looked at the men, dressed in embassy uniforms. Her personal guards were now her captors.

"Hello, Ambassador," the lead man said. "I'm afraid I can't let you leave."

* * *

Vader flicked his wrist, forcing open the iron gates. They snapped to each side, testing the hinges.

The dark lord's cape waved in the wind, dust scattering everywhere. He led Malice, Wrath, and twenty troopers. Demic took a group to secure the perimeter.

Vader felt their impatience to carry out violence. Of his three Horsemen, Demic was the thinker. The others required attention.

"They're to be taken alive until I say otherwise," Vader decreed. "Be on your guard. I sense Jedi within."

At the top of the steps, Vader shattered the glass entrance with merely a thought. He stepped through the opening and came face to face with the Republic contingent.

Mon Mothma received him defiantly. But all it elicited was a wicked smile. Vader enjoyed strong women, at least in his own mind.

The smile fell from his face when Padme appeared. In the ugly sunlight, her porcelain skin sparkled, and her chocolate eyes were framed perfectly by the curled hair that fell on either side of her.

Vader's eyes were yellow, then blue, and yellow again. He remained perfectly still, perfectly balanced. It only took a moment to force entry into her mind.

_Padme didn't like Coruscant. Everything was a construct. Nothing grew or bloomed._ _The cityscape was a dark intruder; it got into everything, left you breathless. Naboo had never felt so far away.  
_

_Today's hearing was miserable, devolving into insults and half-hearted ultimatums. Every vot_ _e was blocked by filibuster._

_She wondered sometimes if democracy worked. There was a reason the Sith were winning.  
_

_Padme climbed the steps to her apartment. All she wanted was a warm bath.  
_

_She entered her foyer with a sigh of contentment._

_Padme threw down her bag and walked to the living room._ _She pulled the pins from her hair, so that it fell down her shoulders.  
_

" _Lights on."_

_Padme shrieked at the sight of fourteen-year-old Anakin. He sat silently on her couch, hands folded in his lap._

" _Anakin!" Her heart fluttered. "How did you get in here?"_

_The boy was unashamed. "I'm a Jedi, Padme."_

_The lamplight filled his eyes, which were totally blank. That was new. Since the day they met, he'd been a bundle of sentiments straining to escape. Now in her living room, he was as empty as a droid._

_"You have no right to be here," she said.  
_

_Her glossy frown reduced Anakin to the least importance. He lifted his chin:_ " _I just wanted to see you. You're never around. I've been waiting for weeks. Left you notes and no answer."_

_Padme's eyebrows forced a line in her forehead. "I'm sorry you feel ignored, Anakin, but I'm very busy. Perhaps when the war's over, we can spend some time together. We could go with Master Obi-Wan to_ _—_ _"_

_Anakin scowled. "I don't want to talk about Obi-Wan. That's all I ever talk about. No one talks about me." Anger offered momentum to his original purpose. He pulled a shiny locket from inside his tunic. The silver chain wasn't big enough to fit a grown woman. "I bought this for you. It cost two weeks of my stipend."  
_

_Padme blanched. Hers and Anakin's portraits were inside the locket. It was unnervingly intimate._

_Her mouth opened and closed. She was conscious of her womanhood._ " _Anakin, that's—it's very sweet of you. You didn't have to do this."_

" _I wanted to."_

_He held out the locket, but she stepped back to avoid it._

_"It's so nice of you, Anakin—it's beautiful—but I can't accept it."_

_Blackness flooded his eyes. He made a fist with his free hand._ " _I spent everything I had on it."_

" _I know. And it was very thoughtful, but—"_

" _I spent everything I_ had! _" he cried in a high rasping voice. "I do something nice for you and you—you walk all over it! Just like you always have! I'd walk through fire for you, Padme, and you can't even return a message!"_ _His voice grew shriller but his eyes more dangerous. They had a light yellow hue unbecoming of a Jedi.  
_

" _Anakin," she harshly enunciated, "it's time for you to leave."_

_For the first time, Anakin truly understood all life had denied him. He threw a lamp to the floor with a stab into the Force._

"Now _," growled Padme.  
_

_Anakin burned with anger, out of all proportion to its cause, and he judged that her unreason was driven by her bond with the man he despised._

_He left, walking through the manic city, surrounded by right and wrong._ _Padme's rejection was terribly naïve. The power was his. He was a Jedi—the Chosen One—and she was part of his domain, the same as his lightsaber._

Vader smiled darkly. "Hello, Padme."


	17. Mother's Lesson

_Miler was a good boy, the kind other parents remark upon: "Why can't_ my _kid be more like that?"_

_He had a mischievous streak but was incapable of cruelty. He stood up for his friends, respected his teachers._

_When he was eight, his sister broke her leg. Somehow he carried her a mile to the hospital._

_Whatever goodness was innate in him was buttressed by his mother. After spending one year playing doctor for the wealthy, Miler's mother moved her practice to the_ _slums. Few patients could afford to pay her, and she attracted no benefactors. Thus her family scraped by the same as her clients._

_Many would call this a noble vocation. Some would deride her as denying her children a better life. Whichever outlook moves you, one cannot deny that kindness, like cruelty, has consequences._

_Miler's father died before his seventh birthday. And his sister was emotionally indelicate. This left little Miler to care for his mom._

_Darmok Syndrome was a slow, painful spiral. There was no cure, only symptom mitigation. Painkillers, nausea meds, appetite boosters. Between pills and IV drips, she spent her final months in myriad states of consciousness._

_Miler sat beside her, the rhythmic whir of the neural recorder flattening his own brain waves, so that every spike of emotion was smashed at commencement by his solemn duty._

_He checked her ascitic tap: a series of tubes draining fluid from her liver into six plastic pouches. Finding everything in order, and with nothing else to check, he smiled falsely at his absurdly calm mom._

_Her eyes were rimmed black. Her mouth seemed to cave into her sallow white cheeks. Every feature of her face signaled she was dying, but as this was not news to her, and had happened very slowly, Miler's mother had will enough to smile gently. "My good boy," she whispered._

_"The doctor will be here later," little Miler said._

_"He would have better luck tending a garden. There are things that survive winter."_

_"Maybe he'll try new meds. We'll find the right meds. You'll be out of bed soon. By spring, I think."_

_She took a long blink. Her bony fingers grasped his knuckles. "Every book I ever read you has an ending, Miler. Some are happy, and some are sad. But they all end as they're meant to."_

_"We can go to the spring concert," Miler said. "Like we did with dad. I didn't want to before, not without him, but I changed my mind. I wonder if they have that candy still. The kind that looks like ice. I love candy."_

_"You are strong, Miler," his mother said. "I promise: everything will be okay. You'll learn to live with it. You'll have a wonderful life."_

_Miler's voice cracked. "We'll go to the concert. It'll be like we remember..."_

_Finding impossible strength, Miler's mother tightened her grasp, so that his knuckles whitened like slowly spreading ink. Her other hand lifted, forcing his chin until he found her gaze. "Miler," she gasped, finding she was crying, "you are **strong**. I've taught you everything I know. I've loved you with all my heart. I've given you my soul, and you will carry it with you."_

_Miler gnawed his lip, like a wounded rancor, forcing blood down his chin. But it was simply too late. Tears pooled on his lashes, released by a blink. Soon blood and tears mixed, dampening his collar. The caretaker was gone. Little Miler was little Miler._

_"I need you," he choked on a sob._

_"I will never, ever leave you, Miler. You will never be without me. I will be everywhere. I'll be in every face you see, in every sunny day, and in the darkness all around you. I'll be in the garments on your body, hugging you every day. When you have good days and bad days, I'll be in your laughter and in your crying. I love you. I love you forever."_

_"Mommy..."_

_"Brave heart, Miler. Brave heart, my precious boy. You're so good, and so brave. Promise me you will never change. Always be yourself. Always be good. Never turn away from someone who needs you. Promise me, Miler..."_

_Tears streamed down his face, but his gaze didn't fall. He knew not the burden to which he agreed, but little Miler swallowed, desperate to give his mom a gift while she was still of this world, and in the bravest voice he had, little Miler promised._

_"Brave heart..."_

"I have missed you," Vader said.

"The feeling is not mutual, Darth," Padme replied.

"Is that how you treat your lost love?"

"You only love _yourself_. From the moment you were born, you lusted for power."

"And I have it," Vader snarled. "So take care in how you speak to me."

Miler stared at him fearlessly. "What a mighty Sith Lord—threatenin' a woman."

"And who are you?" Vader asked.

Darth Malice stepped out of the shadows, lips twisted in a grin. "This is Miler Crata _:_ brave hero of the 301st. And Aayla Secura, Jedi Knight."

Miler heard himself breathing, hard and harsh. Mental molasses delayed thoughts from taking form. He stared dumbly at the ghost before him.

"Gen'ral Tiin," he whispered.

Padme's mouth hung open. The face staring at Miler was burned and hard, badly torn and stitched back together. But there was no doubt who it was. "Master Tiin," she choked on his name. "Why?"

Malice smiled wickedly. "Because I could."

"You son of a bitch!" Miler launched forward, grabbing Malice by the collar before the Force cut him off. Malice choked him with his mind, sending Miler to his knees grasping at his neck.

"Stop it!" Aayla shouted. "You're killing him!"

Padme growled, "Damn you, Vader! Call off your dog!"

Vader's body responded to her anger. He gave a lecherous stare before ordering mildly: "Let him go."

Miler crumpled to the ground, gasping for air as Aayla caught him.

Vader addressed Mothma: "I have shown you consideration. Now tell me, Ambassador: why are your esteemed colleagues here?"

"To support negotiations," she replied stoically. "That is why _you're_ here, isn't it? To negotiate with Halm?"

He gave a sweeping gesture at their surroundings. "Does it look like I need to negotiate?"

"It looks like you're incapable of it."

"My method is swift."

"Violence?"

"Such an ugly word," Vader said. "I prefer to think of it as eliminating obstacles."

"And what of these obstacles?"

Vader turned to Padme, caressing her face with one knuckle. She remained rigid like a corpse. "There is always a choice. Senator Amidala won't let her friends die just to protect a secret."

"I will do what I must," Padme said.

Vader stared for a long moment, assessing her resolve. Padme's stubbornness rivaled Obi-Wan's. "I enjoy your platitudes, but this matter is rather urgent. Let me demonstrate my seriousness."

Vader gestured to the shadows.

Wrath ignited his blade and cut Mothma's throat.

A squeal ripped from her trachea. Her legs folded under her. Padme scrambled to her side, but the light in her eyes was already gone. Tears streamed down her face. She put her forehead to Mothma's, mewling nonsense.

Miler struggled to his knees, but Aayla squeezed him in her arms. "We won't lose you, too," she whispered.

* * *

_Landon's mother stole from a Rodian to buy a decent meal. An hour later, the Rodian and his friends beat her in an alley. When Landon found her, her eyes were swelled shut. Her face was a crimson mask._

_She was in the hospital three hours_ _—just enough time to_ _regain her sight_ _—_ _before leaving against advice. She couldn't afford to miss work.  
_

_Even as a child, Landon grasped his mother's uncommon constitution.  
_

_She deflowered herself for money, gave her kidney to pay a debt, and killed her sister so she could sell the estate. On the backs of these choices, little Landon endured.  
_

_She was a very warm person, despite what she did.  
_

_Landon was thirteen when her luck ran out.  
_

_Their false identities were_ _uncovered. They needed off the planet. Landon's mother traded their possessions for a spot on a Vodran freighter. But the plan fell apart._

_The ship's captain recognized her from a police bulletin. Ordinarily, he wouldn't care; criminals' money is as good as anyone's. But Landon's mother couldn't match the reward being offered by the government._

_Landon didn't see it happen. But hearing was enough._

_There was a struggle, bodies crashing, before the sound of a plunged knife along with a blaster shot._

_When Landon entered the cabin, he found the captain sprawled dead.  
_

_Landon's mother was on her side, writhing and moaning. Her hands clutched at a dagger in her stomach.  
_

_Blood spurted from her mouth._ " _Landon..."  
_

 _"Momma! Oh, God..."_ _He reached for the knife, before remembering her lesson: you pull, you perish. His hands settled on her shoulders._

" _Landon," she cried. "You... you..."_

" _Shh. Don't talk, momma. Save your strength."_

_She reached for his cheek, caressing his neck instead. "You have... to take the ship..."_

" _No, momma! I'm gonna get you help. You're gonna be okay."_

_Her eyes squeezed shut, tears trickling from the corners. "Landon, I'm already dead. You're going to take the ship... and leave this place..."_

_Landon shook his head. He was hard at work unremembering her lessons, purging monologues about survival and self-reliance. "Please... no... no no no no..."_

_"Everything I've done... my entire life... it's all been for you. I have to know... that you'll be okay. Nothing else matters. You're my son, Landon. There's... only one of you... in the whole universe..."_

_Landon nodded against her hand, not because he understood but because she needed him to. She jerked, sputtering blood on him. The world thinned, easing back, until all that remained was a point of light, spiraling and pulsing, and then, with a whimpering flash, disappearing into all we don't know._

The explosion succeeded in sealing off the mine. It would take the Sith weeks to penetrate the rubble.

Landon smugly assessed his work: "You know, I could've been a geologist."

"Or a terrorist," Julian said.

"Nah, it would never work. Too much self-sacrifice."

Obi-Wan gasped. A vein throbbed in his forehead. Within the Jedi, a cold void had formed that might soon be filled with pain and loss if he didn't act quickly. He took off running and leapt into the speeder.

Julian chased him. "Obi-Wan! What's wrong?"

"Padme's in danger!"

"How do you know?" Receiving no answer, Julian said: "I'll raise them on the radio."

"Don't!" Instead, Obi-Wan contacted R2. "Kenobi to the Tangent. Fire up the engines. Orders to follow." Receiving acknowledgment, and with his party on board, he slammed the accelerator. The speeder ripped through a tent and across the desert plain.

Landon asked Julian, "Can you fire a blaster?"

"Yeah, I'm a level-five sniper."

"Really?"

"No."

"You better learn fast," Landon said, thrusting a gun at the doctor. "Boss: what are we up against?"

Surely Palmer sensed it, too, but as he was chillingly indifferent about danger and death, Obi-Wan couldn't tell. Whatever its providence, Obi-Wan knew his feeling wasn't wrong. Like cruel nodes of cancer, the greatest failure of his life had suddenly returned. "Evil," he said.

* * *

"Have you learned your lesson?" Vader asked. "The next one will cost more."

"You evil **bastard**!" Padme wept.

"Say it in a mirror, and it will be as true." Like a screaming mynok, he towered over her. "But if you think I kill the innocent, that I bring dread to children's dreams; if you believe I take pleasure in my power, then yes, Padme: I am evil. Now: _shall we begin_?"

The building rocked from an explosion. Vader ran to the window. Outside, the Sith soldiers were scrambling. He barked into his comlink: "Commander Argyle, report!"

A harrowed voice answered: "Lord Vader, the embassy's been destroyed! Half our troops were still inside!"

"How?!"

"The Halmans, sir!" The static intensified, and Vader heard blasters. "We're under fire! They've _—_ " The signal ended.

Vader knew they wouldn't surrender, but he didn't expect the Halmans to be so organized. Rage coiled around his guts.

"Wrath, I will need your services," Vader said. He ordered Malice: "Continue the interrogation. Kill anyone but _her_."

* * *

The Sith embassy lay in ruin. The street was covered in blown-out glass, broken marble, and collapsed metal frames. The flames had spread to other buildings, creating a wall of smoke and fire.

The Halmans took positions behind rubble and in unburned buildings. They were outnumbered and outgunned but had plenty of cover.

Vader found Argyle pinned down in a shop. Antique statues exploded around their heads.

"Report!" Vader yelled.

"There can't be more than a hundred, but they have us in a crossfire! We're taking heavy losses, my Lord! We have to draw them out of cover!"

Vader shut his eyes, using the Force to locate the rebels. They were clustered on the near flank, leaving the far side vulnerable. "Wrath, take the long way around! Attack from the rear! Commander Argyle, call in air support!"

"There is no air support! They destroyed our docking bays!"

"Then order your men to rush the near flank!"

"Sir, they'll be slaughtered!"

Vader grabbed him by the collar. "Do it _now_!"

At Argyle's nod, the dark lord released him.

Vader leapt from cover into a hail of gunfire. Deflecting and dodging, he sprinted down the street.

As he rounded the corner into an alley, two Halmans dropped on either side of him from the fire escape above. Each fired a shot, but Vader ducked so they killed each other. He grinned at their corpses.

* * *

Miler scanned the room. Three guards held the rear. Malice was the only obstacle between him and the entrance. He stood up slowly. "If ya want answers, Gen'ral, get them from me."

Malice fingered his disengaged saber. "What is your mission, Mr. Crata?"

"We received reports abou' a Sith build-up," Miler answered. "It would appear the reports were true."

"Am I to believe they sent a _lieutenant_?"

"It's _captain_ now, actually."

"Tell me, _Captain_ : on whose orders are you acting? Master Yoda's?"

"This comes directly from the chancellor," Miler lied. "And he has a message for your master..." He flicked his eyes at Aayla.

"And that is?"

"Ya can both go straight to hell."

Miler rushed at Malice, feeling the Force on his throat again. But Aayla called the Sith's saber out of his own hand. In one motion, she caught and ignited it and slayed the three soldiers.

She flipped to strike Malice, who had to release Miler in order to dodge the blow. Malice backpedaled to the glass overlooking the courtyard. When Aayla attacked, he fired lightning, caught by her saber but stopping her advance.

Padme grabbed a blaster. Malice fired a second arc of lighting that enveloped her whole body. She fell to her knees, convulsing violently.

"Ya forgot me, Gen'ral!" Miler's blaster destroyed his left horn, throwing Malice through the glass to the courtyard below.

The lightning around Padme dissipated. Her convulsions ceased as her friends helped her up. But her nerves were on fire. Her hands shook at her sides.

"We gotta move, lass," Miler said, receiving a brave nod.

He picked his comlink from a corpse, tossing it to Padme. He checked the hallway for troopers.

"Obi-Wan!" Padme cried. "Are you there? Come in!"

Static crackled, before a faint reply: "Padme! Where are you?"

"We're at the embassy. Mon Mothma's dead; the Sith are taking over."

"Are you hurt?"

"Nothing fatal," she assured him. "But we can't get to the ship. It's chaos outside."

There was a long pause. She heard him talking to the others. "Across the street is City Hall; can you see it?"

Miler nodded to her from the window.

"Yes, we see it," Padme said.

"Get to the roof. There's a landing pad. R2 will meet us there with the Dawn Tangent."

"O–okay," she stuttered.

"Good. And Padme?"

"Yes?"

"You're going to be all right."

"I'll see you soon, Obi-Wan."

* * *

The Sith took brutal losses. But the rebels were surrounded. Argyle held the perimeter while the Horsemen stormed the buildings and killed everything that moved.

Argyle hurdled over a railing onto the porch of a saloon. The door swung open, breaking his nose. A guerrilla leapt on him, cocking a fist, but Argyle drew a knife and stabbed him in the heart.

Argyle threw off the body and turned to his knees. A sudden wind disturbed the street, blowing dust in his face. He blinked furiously as a ship rushed by. Wiping at his eyes, he saw the ship land on the roof of City Hall.

He rasped into his comlink: "Lord Vader! A ship... landing..."

"Divert your men! Secure that building!" Vader growled.

* * *

They sprinted through the street, unnoticed until the Tangent landed on City Hall. Now the troopers pursued them.

At the foot of the front steps, Miler covered his friends. Padme and Aayla bolted for the entrance as he stared down a mob.

"Go go go!" he screamed. He killed three men before following. The gold staircase exploded around him.

At the top of the stairs, he dove through the entrance, bolts grazing his skin before Aayla slammed the door.

They hurried through the lobby and the first-floor offices. The building was empty except for cowering clerks.

Just past the offices was the interior stairwell.

"This should go all the way up," Aayla said.

There were ten levels in all. They moved quickly, clearing two steps with every stride. Down in the lobby, they heard blasters and screams. They blocked it out and kept running.

Halfway up, a door burst open. Miler sidestepped a trooper and dumped him over the railing. Two more followed, pinning the women against the wall. Miler yanked one off Padme and bashed his face into the concrete, hearing the cruel crunch of cartilage and bone.

Aayla drew her saber and impaled the other trooper.

Five levels down, they heard the clamor of footfalls.

"Keep movin'!" Miler demanded.

* * *

Landon threw him over his hip and stomped his head in. He turned in time to gun down another. A third came from behind, but Obi-Wan halved him at the waist. The body fell in pieces.

"General!" Julian pointed at three Sith approaching.

Obi-Wan's voice was flat and grim. "Doctor, Landon: get to the roof."

"What about you?" asked Julian.

"We'll hold out. Get on board and make a low pass."

Julian hesitated, prompting Landon to grab him. "Doc, they're Sith fucking lords! What are you gonna do—vaccinate them?"

"We'll be back," promised Julian.

Quinn squinted at the dark lords' outlines. "I can't make them out yet."

Obi-Wan needn't see a face; already, he felt Vader. His mind descended into sorrow as the Sith washed over him. Memories flashed behind his closed eyes.

Palmer slicked his hair back. His purple blade flashed into being. "Pity and guilt will get you killed," he said.

Obi-Wan's eyes lifted, narrowing to a point. He shrugged off his cloak.

* * *

Six soldiers burst through the door to the roof. Ahead was the Dawn Tangent with its entry ramp deployed. Padme stood with a blaster at the top of the ramp. The troopers rushed forward, screaming in unison as blue plasma severed their feet at the ankles.

The troopers thrashed in an agonized pile. Aayla had cloaked herself with the aid of the Force. Now she lopped off a head while Miler emptied his blaster.

When the troopers stilled, he said, "You'll have t'teach me that trick, lass."

"If you'll teach me to shoot."

"It's a date," he said.

Miler shouted to Padme: "Ya all right, ma'am?"

"I'm fine. The others?"

Miler looked at the stairwell. He shoved down his savage pessimism. It occurred to Miler that Obi-Wan might be unkillable.

* * *

Their black hoods hinted at features _:_ pock marks, gaunt cheeks, severe chins. At the center of a dark face, Obi-Wan recognized two cold, jaundiced eyes.

Vader drew back his hood and met Obi-Wan's stare. His old master wondered if Vader knew what he'd lost. A Sith Lord has allies but not allegiance; acquaintances but not friends; and even standing in strength shoulder-to-shoulder, he looked unbearably lonely.

Vader unclasped his cape and let it blow away. "Mr. Trask, it would appear you've switched sides."

"Nothing personal," Palmer said.

Deep in his throat, Vader gnarred. He couldn't contain his envy of Obi-Wan, so he didn't try. He gathered all of Anakin's indignities, mashed them together like a mound of black clay, and released it to the Force to be glazed and hardened.

"I've dreamt of killing you," Vader said.

"They have pills for that," Obi-Wan deadpanned.

"My power's unstoppable. I have become what you feared."

"I know."

"Your journey ends here, my master," Vader said.

Obi-Wan's saber flashed on. " _I don't think so_."

Vader threw a hammer strike that Obi-Wan blocked above his head. Demic leapt over top, landing behind Obi-Wan, but Palmer thrust his blade in to block Demic's swing.

Demic landed a forearm to Palmer's jaw, then swept at his legs, catching air as Palmer jumped to avoid it. Palmer followed with a lunge, but Demic blocked it to the side and swung upward, forcing Palmer to retreat. Wrath, meanwhile, grappled with Quinn.

Obi-Wan backpedaled placidly as Vader raged with heavy strikes. His neutral expression fed Vader's anger.

When Obi-Wan blocked a thrust and pinned his blade to the ground, Vader kicked him in the knee, then the shoulder, knocking Obi-Wan supine. He stood over him and hammered down over and over, forcing Obi-Wan's blade ever closer to his body.

Flashes of the past, as well as potential futures, filled Vader's mind. He saw Qui-Gon's smile and Obi-Wan's corpse, along with two Padmes; one burning alive, the other naked in his arms.

Vader forced Obi-Wan's blade to his shoulder. Obi-Wan screamed. He hooked his heel behind Vader's and tripped him to the ground.

Both men rolled away and sprang up swinging. Their blades met in the middle, flashing brightly.

Obi-Wan stepped back, examining his wound. He realized finally that Vader outmatched him.

* * *

The trooper swung at Julian's head, but the doctor ducked and delivered a right cross that sent his foe down the stairs. His head whipped around at the adrenaline-drunk shouts of their approaching pursuers.

"Move it, Doc!" Landon demanded.

They stumbled to the summit and fell more than walked through the door to the roof.

Julian felt a hand on him. He fumbled for his blaster.

"Easy, mate _;_ it's me," Miler said. "Where are the others?"

Land climbed to his feet. "Holding off the Sith."

"More troopers behind us," Julian rasped.

Miler slammed the roof door shut, slipping his blaster through the handle to block it. "That won't hold 'em long. Get to the Tangent."

They did as ordered, staggering exhaustedly. Julian was halfway up the ramp when he heard a faint moan. He whipped his head, finding a prone woman behind a large fan that had shielded her from view. She was clutching her throat, covered in blood.

"Doc, get in here!" Landon demanded.

Julian leapt off the ramp. He ran to the woman's side and dropped to his knees. Through her ruined torso he saw organs. Blood flowed from her neck to the concrete beneath her.

He gasped at her face.

_The clerk's hands fiddled nervously. "Well... I guess... you are his friends after all."_

Stunned with horror, with revulsion, Julian shook his head to snap on the mask of doctor.

Miler demanded, "Julian! What the hell are ya doin'?!"

"There's a woman over here! She needs my help!"

Sith soldiers hammered on the door. "Julian—!"

"We can't just leave her!"

The pounding increased and the door-blocking blaster showed signs of strain.

_"Brave heart, Miler."_

Miler sighed harshly. He bounded across the rooftop and dropped beside Julian.

"She's too heavy for one of us," Julian said.

Together, they lifted the clerk, each taking half of her.

"Landon, cover us!" Miler yelled.

"Are you crazy?! Leave her! We have to go!"

"Just cover us!"

They staggered toward the ship. With every step, the gun in the door weakened. They were halfway to the Tangent when the gun finally snapped.

Troopers poured onto the roof. Landon's cover never came. Miler turned to watch him run into the ship.

"Landon! God damn you!"

The doctor faltered. He dropped to a knee, taking Miler with him. Suddenly the clerk's head exploded, splattering on Julian. It knocked him on his side. His ears rang, and the world was dream-like.

Miler was shouting, but it sounded so distant. He was on the ground, and then on his feet, and suddenly Aayla was dragging him while Miler gave cover. Aayla hauled him up the ramp. She lay him down as Miler sealed the door.

The ship secure, Aayla demanded: "Miler, what happened?"

"Just stay with him," he growled.

Miler rushed to the cockpit, where he found Landon and Padme. He grabbed Landon's jacket and slammed him against the wall. "You son of a bitch!"

Padme shot up. "Hey! What is this?"

"You were s'posed to cover us!" Miler gnarled. "We could've died, ya bloody bastard!"

Landon didn't deny it. His uncaring stare catalyzed rage. Miler pressed on his throat, making him choke on his own spit.

"Miler!" Padme was tugging on his arms. "Miler, stop! We don't have time for this! We have to get to Obi-Wan!"

After a long moment, Miler released him. Landon fell to the floor, gulping air.

Miler slid into the pilot's seat. He refocused his mind. "Senator, I need ya t'work the controls on the ramp. Can you do that?" Padme nodded. "Brave heart. We have one shot at this."

She hurried to the back, banging her elbows on everything. She was a ball of energy, and she would have burst but for knowing that his life was in her hands.

She knew the evil of which Vader was capable. She knew he blamed Obi-Wan for her spurning his affections. She remembered telling little Anakin that he didn't know what love was, and it was strange she'd said it because she hadn't known either.

But she did now.

_Hang on, my Obi-Wan._


	18. The Messenger

"You were the Chosen One!" Obi-Wan growled. "It was said that you would destroy the Sith—not join them!"

"I **am** the Chosen One. But I will not balance the Force. I will **destroy** it."

Obi-Wan's heart froze in his chest. Destroy it? What did that mean?

Vader screamed, streaking forward. Obi-Wan caught his blade. He pedaled back as Vader surged. The dark lord was an animal. He smashed and stabbed. Obi-Wan blocked but was quickly tiring.

Vader lost his footing. Obi-Wan seized his chance, cutting a gash up Vader's side. But as he went for the kill, lightning engulfed him. He fell shouting to his knees.

Vader maintained the lightning while he lifted his saber. "This is the end, my master."

Vader swung—Obi-Wan blocked. The Jedi's hand trembled with effort. Vader leaned heavily, forcing the blade down. Vengeance was here, sitting on his tongue, to be savored before consumption. In his mind's eye, he gripped Padme's flesh, ravished her body, atop Obi-Wan's corpse.

The ground exploded, throwing Vader aside. Above them, on the ramp of the Tangent, Landon wielded a blaster.

Obi-Wan struggled to his feet. His eyes blinked clear.

The Tangent lowered as Landon fired at Wrath and Demic. Quinn jumped to the ship, followed by Palmer.

Obi-Wan turned to find Vader slashing. The Sith caught air as Obi-Wan leapt to the ramp of the Tangent.

Vader slammed his blade, piercing the ground so only the hilt could be seen. His primal scream echoed in the valley.

For a brief moment, Obi-Wan held his eyes. One final search for the seed of repentance. But the Sith was pure. Obi-Wan walked up the ramp with a weight off his heart.

The Tangent came about and streaked through the sky.

Padme launched into his arms. Obi-Wan staggered but caught her, allowing her head on his chest. "Are you all right?" she demanded.

Obi-Wan nodded. Over Padme's shoulder, Miler strode toward Landon.

"Nice flyin'," drawled Landon.

Miler punched him in the jaw, sending him reeling.

"Hey!" barked Obi-Wan.

Miler struck another blow and threw Landon to the floor. He climbed on top, punching him in the eye. Landon blocked the next blow, throwing him off.

Miler launched himself again, but Obi-Wan caught him. "Stop! What's happened here?"

"This blimey bastard almost killed us!" Miller yelled.

Landon staggered to his feet. "You were killing _yourself_! That chick was as good as dead!"

"I don' care if we were draggin' an anchor! Ya don' leave your crew!"

"Spoken like a Republic automaton."

"Landon, _close your mouth_ ," Obi-Wan gnarled. This pacified Miler, who presented his palms. Obi-Wan released him.

The crew was silent and blank, rank strangers in a circle. Their only connection was anger and fear. Obi-Wan stood at the center, looking between them. He could feel the mission slipping away.

"This endeavor," he said in a measured voice, "is deadly enough without our adding to its danger. If we persist without trust, we will surely fail. And the blood of a galaxy will stain our hands." He paused, as if to force them to feel the weight of it. "I'm not sure I belong here. Perhaps you don't either. Yet here we are. So I want you to ask yourself: what happens next?"

The words hung in the air. For a long moment, no one moved.

Julian took a breath before turning to Miler. "Let's get you looked at," he said.

Miler blinked before nodding. Julian led him from the room. Everyone dispersed, except Obi-Wan and Landon.

As she exited, Padme squeezed Obi-Wan's shoulder. He stroked her knuckles before she retreated.

Obi-Wan stared down Landon. "Having a bad day?"

Landon wiped his bloody mouth. "I won't apologize."

"No. I expect you won't. But if you value your place here, you'll not do that again."

"Message received," Landon said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like some ice."

"Check the kitchen. I'd stay clear of the med bay."

* * *

Julian spun on his stool. Applying bacta to the wound, he kept his friend in the corner of his eye. "For what it's worth, he's not wrong." The doctor explained: "She didn't have a chance. Even if I got her on board, I couldn't have saved her. It nearly got you killed."

"You're a doctor, Julian. I understand duty," Miler said.

Julian marveled at his friend's clear-headededness. Miler sorted the grey universe into black and white piles. "Okay, mate, you're all done," said the doctor. "Try not to touch it. You'll be tender for a while."

The door hissed open. Julian tried not to smirk when Aayla entered.

"How's the patient?" she asked lightly.

"He'll live," said Julian. "No scar, though, if you like that sort of thing."

Aayla walked to the bed. She lifted her hand but quickly dropped it, opting for a nervous smile. "I'm glad you're okay."

"You, too, lass."

Her hand rested on the bed beside him. He thought of covering it with his own but found Julian watching. They lapsed into silence before Aayla stepped back.

"I should... go meditate," she said. "I'll see you around."

Miler struggled to respond but nothing came out. He only nodded and smiled. After she left, he dropped his head with a groan.

"Very smooth," said Julian. "Thought I was watching a holo-film."

"Oh, shove off."

Julian laughed, clapping him on the arm. "Buck up, mate. I've got expert advice and some ale needs drinking."

"Just the ale, thanks."

* * *

Palmer examined the small quarters assigned him by Obi-Wan. It reminded him of his bunk at the temple (or maybe it didn't; memories have a way of fading into myth). He set his lightsaber on the table and walked to the wall. He checked the steel for any sign of surveillance.

"You fought well for being out of practice."

Palmer smirked. He didn't bother turning. "Practice? Every day is a war. It's only you Jedi get particular with weapons."

Quinn leaned on the door frame. "You still carry yours. Does that make you a Jedi?"

"I'm an admirer of relics. As, I imagine, are you. 'The great Jedi historian,'" Palmer said bombastically. “Tell me: what will our place be, when all of this is over?"

"You mistake history for the study of the past."

"And what would you call it?"

"Prophecy," replied Quinn. "What has been will always be. All the life in the universe is trapped in a loop."

Palmer turned, tracing his mustache. "You're wrong about that. We don't repeat our fathers' sins."

"And what of our fathers' good?"

Palmer hummed beneath his breath. Dusk light filled his eyes. "He who imitates evil always goes beyond the example that is set. He who imitates good always falls a little short."

"So we devolve, then. Each generation."

"In a thousand years, we'll be protein and acid."

Quinn's nostrils contracted. He flexed three clawed fingers. "Until that day."

Palmer smiled emptily. "Until that day."

* * *

Unless you're a Jedi, the Force means nothing. It's a simple matrix of physics and math. The same is true of pilots and hyperspace. Landon stared at the swirling mass. Thin bands of blue, cast against black, twirled like petals.

He looked at a banged-up holoframe perched on the dashboard. It held the image of a determined woman.

"Bweeeep."

"I don't speak droid," said Landon.

R2 plugged in to a nearby computer. It translated speech to a digital readout. "Why are you sitting here?" it read. "The auto-pilot is functioning normally."

"Why do we do anything?" Landon wondered.

"Biological and chemical imperatives," R2 replied.

Landon smirked, saying nothing. But then feeling the droid's stare, he snapped his head. "Something else, short stack?"

"Who's in the holograph?" R2 asked.

Landon's forehead creased. He placed the holoframe in his pocket, staring into hyperspace. The droid dithered at his ice-cold eyes.

"Don't ask that again," said Landon.

* * *

Julian frowned at the bottle, finding little remained. "Miler," he mumbled, "there's a very good chance we're drunk right now."

Miler snatched the bottle, pouring two glasses. Julian crossed his eyes at the thought of another. "And what's wrong with bein' drunk?" Miler mused. "Better than thinkin'... an' dreamin'... an' fightin'..."

Julian sank on the couch. "I used to _dream_ of fighting..."

"What—like a boxer?"

"Like you! Brave soldier of the Republic."

Miler chortled, taking a long drink. "There's nothin' brave about survivin'."

"That's where you're wrong! If you die, the war's over. If you _survive_... you have to fight again."

"Hmm. Never thought like that."

"Miler Crata," Julian slurred, lifting his glass in toast (and spilling ale everywhere). "I hereby declare you... the bravest blimey soldier in the history of this... c—civilization... or any other. You, sir, are a gentleman and a scholar!"

Miler grinned. He took a swig, propped his feet on the table. He threw back his head and stared at the ceiling, remembering his academy graduation. How did it go again—the Republic March?

He sang in a bad baritone: "Repuuuublic soooollllldiers, maaaarrrch tooo gloooooorrrryyy... victooorrrryyy is hoooverin' o'er ye... bright-eyed frrrreeeeedom stands before yeeee... hear yeeeee not the caaaalllll."

Julian slammed his glass down. He joined the next verse, mock-conducting.

"At your sloth, she seems to wonder  
if your faith's been torn asunder  
Take your blaster and write history  
for ye whom you love

Echoes loudly waking  
Ship and planet shaking  
'Til the sound spreads wide around  
Their evil spirit breaking  
Your foes your mercy taking  
For you lot have not forsaken  
The Republic never yields!"

Julian signaled the finish with a snap of his arms. "Now _that_ is a song!" he said, reaching for the couch. He didn't care when he landed on the floor. "Three thousand years and it only gets better."

Miler's head dropped to one shoulder. "Wish I could'a been there—at Korriban—when he wrote it. Tha', my friend, was the golden age. Men were men. Women were women." He paused, eyes narrowing to a point. "Different time. A better one maybe."

"Bet _they_ said the same thing—about earlier times," said Julian. "We glorify the past 'cause we're afraid of the future. We don't know if we're hero or villain—not 'til the song's wrote."

Miler blinked. "That's some deep shit, Julian. Are ya sure you're drunk?"

The doctor snickered, sliding onto the couch. "I think better when I'm drunk. Case in point: I know for a fact women are still women."

"How's that?"

"You're in love with one."

Miler froze mid-sip. He set the glass down. Flicking his eyes to the doctor, he found no smugness. "I barely know her."

"You barely know me."

"I'm not in love with you."

"That hurts, but continue."

Miler imagined her face against a canvass of stars. "I guess I don' understand. It's like—it's like I chose her b'fore I was born. And I been searchin' the whole galaxy 'fore I finally found her."

"That's good material. Mind if I use that?" Julian grinned at his glare. "Sorry. Keep going."

"That's it."

"What do you mean 'that's it?' What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing."

" _Nothing_?" cried Julian. "What about that soulmate stuff?"

Miler shook his head gloomily. "We got a mission. And either one of us could die. Maybe she could handle that, but I know I couldn't."

Julian studied him before rubbing his eyes. He forced the clutter from his mind, grasping a thought. It was too precious to lose. "I tell you about Utapau—my tour at the field clinic?"

"No."

"Hated it there. All rock and sink holes. The clinic was quiet, though; we were pretty far from the front line," Julian recalled. "Most of my patients were treated for heat exhaustion."

"Aye. It's a furnace down there."

"I only lost one man. That's pretty good for twenty days."

"He stroked out?"

Julian took a breath. "Friendly fire. His mate was cleaning a blaster—forgot to power down."

"Bloody hell," Miler mumbled.

"Right through the chest," Julian recalled dourly. "Destroyed his lung, snipped a hole in his heart. By the time he got to me, it was a matter of two minutes."

Miler tried to guess the point of the story. "You talked to him—before he—?"

Julian nodded. His chin inched toward his mouth. "He knew he was bleeding out. He kept fumbling for his pocket. I reached in, found a slip of paper. He said it was for Hayli—that I must promise to give it to her."

"Who was she?"

"Another soldier. He said he'd loved her for years," Julian said, almost whispering. "And so he died on my table and left me this note. I waited for her to come back from the line—even after my tour ended. And then one day, she walked into my tent..."

The doctor swallowed. "I gave her the note, and I could feel her sadness down to my bones. She didn't say anything—just thanked me and left. But I've always known..." His forehead creased, eyes cast down. "I've always known that she felt the same for him."

Miler looked off. The skin crinkled at his temples.

Julian turned to him solemnly. "Don't make me your messenger, Miler."

* * *

Aayla held her pose, suspended in the air, as objects floated around her. The physical world vanished; she was enveloped in the Force. It surrounded her like a dark and light shroud. And its beauty, even it be dreadful, brought her closer to truth. But was that enough?

The work of the Force is utterly lonely. Yet need it be so? Were the Jedi protocols not written by men? Was the Sith code not a man's interpretation? From the day she crawled, a cabal of masters dictated her experience of the Force. What would happen if she defined it herself? What would happen if she let herself—there is no emotion; there is peace; there is no ignorance; there is—what would happen if she let herself love?

A door chime ripped her from meditation. She plunked down on the floor, blinking rapidly. When the sound registered, she walked to the door. It slid open to reveal Miler.

He leaned on the frame, wearing a dreamy grin. "Good evenin'. Hope I'm not interruptin'."

Aayla smiled at his glazed eyes. "Not at all."

"Good! 'Cause I'm of a mind to tell ya somethin'."

"I'm of a mind to hear it," she replied sweetly. "Though I wonder if you should sleep on it. You appear quite drunk, Miler Crata."

Miler warped his face before conceding: "Aye, I am. And that's why I shouldn't sleep on it."

She searched his eyes, finding an impenetrable maelstrom. His grin began to widen. "Do you remember what you said to me?" he asked. "About vastness."

"'The universe is filled with people.'"

Miler pointed emphatically. "Aye! 'Filled with people.' Ya meet new ones each day—and ya get on with your bus'ness. Only I can't now. 'Cause since I met ya, you've been my bus'ness. I can't think of anythin' but you."

Aayla's face flushed. Her heart beat faster. Reality collapsed to one Miler-centric point.

"You were right—about loss," he said. "I lose everyone I love. My parents, my sister, my friends. And I thought I could fix it by lettin' go. But I realize now I gotta hold tighter. And every time I look at you, I wanna crush ya against me. I wanna press your lips to mine."

Aayla's brow creased. Her hands trembled at her sides.

Miler's bright, naive eyes bore into her depths. "I know it's wrong for ya. I know it couldn't be. But Aayla, I love ya. Call it madness—or the will of the Force— _I love you_."

There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance—

"In a trillion systems, in a trillion galaxies, I could never love anyone but you."

—there is—Aayla grabbed his collar, smashing her lips to his. Miler grunted, pulling her against him. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, relishing her groan. Aayla pulled him into the room and pushed him against the wall. She ran her hand through his hair while exploring his mouth.

He grabbed her hips, reversing positions. They were wild—frantic—releasing years of pain and frustration. Aayla tugged on his shirt, yanking it over his head. He pulled down her top, revealing her bra.

When she moved to kiss him, he grabbed her shoulders suddenly. He held her at arms' length, hungry eyes clouded with doubt. "Aayla," he breathed. "I want this—so badly. But you—your—are you—"

Aayla's eyes were clear, full of love. "I was born to be yours.”

Miler captured her mouth, picking her up off the floor. He carried her to the bed and followed her to the mattress. His warm mouth trailed down her neck. She shuddered, back arching. The universe as she knew it, Force-driven and violent, gave way to a bubble-universe confined to her cabin. There was only her, and Miler, and the hot current between them.

"I love you," she moaned.

* * *

_The man tucked his gray beard, looking deeply solemn. The little girl wondered what had made him so sad. He squatted so their eyes were at the same level._

" _I know this will be confusing," he said gently. "It will be some time before you understand it. But it's important that you remember. You_ must _remember, okay?"_

_The little girl nodded, eyes wide and innocent._

" _One day, you're going to meet a boy named Anakin Skywalker. And he'll seem kind, at first. He'll want you to love him. But whatever you do, you mustn't allow it. He is_ dangerous. _He is_ evil. _You cannot trust Anakin. Do you understand?"_

Padme shot up in bed. Her hand flew to her chest, feeling her pounding heart. The dark room closed in on her. The black outlines of objects seemed to conspire.

She squeezed her eyes shut, placing her head in her palm.

They say the best dreams won't leave us alone. But neither do the others. And this one—she'd grasped for its meaning for far too long. She'd never seen the man's face—not clearly—until tonight. And now she knew: there was only one person who could help.

* * *

Obi-Wan sat at a workbench, sliding a pin into the hilt of his saber. Vader's lightning had damaged the mechanism. A fresh box of sabers sat in the corner, but this one was special. He'd won victories, suffered losses, and saved Padme with it.

He was grabbing a fastener when the door opened. He craned his neck to find Padme. "Hello there. Couldn't sleep?"

"No," she said after a moment. "Too much thinking, I guess."

He set down the fastener. "Let us think together then. What's on your mind?"

Padme walked to the far wall, rubbing her arms. She turned to Obi-Wan, finding his brow furrowed. "There's something—" She swallowed. "You asked me once how I knew about Anakin—how I knew what he'd become without benefit of the Force."

"I remember."

"And then, the other night at the temple, we talked about dreams. I asked if dreams could be memories we hid from ourselves."

Obi-Wan tilted his head. "You've remembered something. Something about Vader."

Padme's eyes snapped down. One hand twisted the other. "It was a long time ago. I was just a little girl. And it's not a dream. It _happened_." She pursed her lips, feeling a heaviness in her stomach. "I was six years old—perhaps seven. I was at the lake on Naboo, sitting alone in a field. I was playing with the flowers when a stranger came. He had a gray beard—and the kindest eyes. He sat with me and we talked. I can't explain it, but it was like I knew him—like he'd always been there. And I could see in his eyes that he knew me."

She paused, feeling Obi-Wan's stare. "He told me to remember something—something important. He said, one day, I'd meet a boy named Anakin. And that this boy was evil. He said I must never trust him."

Obi-Wan flinched. A small divot formed between his eyes.

"Obi-Wan..." She finally met his gaze. "I think the man was you."


	19. Rational Minds

His back went rigid. He tucked his mouth into his hand. His eyes were two mirrors throwing Padme's light at her.

"Obi-Wan, please say something," Padme pleaded.

The Jedi's shock was a third presence in the room. He searched the Force and his feelings for some point of connection. But there was nothing to support Padme's revelation. "We didn't meet until you were queen."

"I know. But I also know that we met before that."

He dropped his hand, taking a breath. Finding his bearings, he considered the details. "You said my beard was—"

"Gray. You were far older than you are now. Twenty years—perhaps more."

"He didn't say anything else? Just warned you about Vader?"

Padme nodded. He rose slowly from his chair, pacing to the wall. He flattened a palm and leaned heavily on it. Padme wished she could step into his mind. She was well accustomed to reading his emotions. But right now, they were guarded.

"Is it so mad?" asked Padme. "There's nothing in our physics—nothing in _the Force_ —that says time travel isn't possible."

"Improbable, but not impossible. There was a Jedi master who purported to time-travel out of his body. He reported historical events with high accuracy."

"This wasn't your mind," she said firmly. "You were flesh and blood."

He smiled thinly, despite his bewilderment. "I believe you. Of course, I do."

Padme lilted her voice hopefully. "Can we not hold it as a blessing? I met your older self; that means you're still alive in twenty years. If you die before then, you'll never come back to meet me. It would be a paradox."

"A 'paradox' is a convenience," Obi-Wan said.

"What do you mean?"

He swept a hand through his hair. It was challenging to distill. "As sentient beings, we covet structure," he explained. "Our lives are linear—sequenced—so we apply that structure to everything else. But the universe is far vaster—more complex and mysterious—than we truly understand. A paradox is the failure of our rational minds to think more expansively."

Padme drew her brows together. "But it already happened. It's a fact—part of history—that you travel back to meet me."

Obi-Wan ghosted a smile. She was eminently logical. "When you were in school, what was the analogy they gave you for time?"

"They said time is a river," she recalled, "flowing in one direction. It sweeps up everything."

"And that's true—but only in that we perceive it so. The Force connects everything in the universe, across time and space. Thus, the past, present, and future are in constant occurrence. Time is not a river; it's that field on Naboo, extending endlessly in all directions."

Padme sucked her lip into her mouth. "So, you were walking one way across the field—but then you turned back. You walked to my place in time, where I was a little girl."

"Precisely."

"But still—the paradox—"

"When my older self went back, he disturbed the grass. He bent the blades. And as I move forward, I'll bend them again—but in a new direction."

Padme scratched her temple. Her muddled mind pursued his reality. "If you're right about that, then we can change what happened." She met Obi-Wan's stare. "Did the mission fail? Is that why you went back—to give us another chance?"

"That's my suspicion."

Padme shook her head slightly. "But why come to me; why warn me about Vader? How would that help our mission?"

"Perhaps that wasn't about the mission," he said in a low voice. "Perhaps he did that for himself."

Padme drank in his solemness. His spine was stiff, shoulders rolled forward. His eyes were two gravity wells drawing her helplessly to their conflict. For a fleeting moment, they were both unguarded, exchanging feeling beyond words. Something ended; something began.

Obi-Wan glanced off, breaking their connection. He couldn't lose his focus. "We're getting ahead of ourselves," he said smoothly.

Padme matched his professional tone. "So what do we do?"

"We don't have much to go on. But I know two places we can start."

* * *

Palmer sank in his chair in an illusion of nonchalance. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Obi-Wan folded his hands in his cloak. His eyes, as ever, were passive and clear. "It's time for answers, Mr. Task. The truth, if you're capable."

"We're all capable. That's why lies are so fun."

Palmer's gaze didn't waiver from Obi-Wan's. There was nothing to divine from the iconoclast's manner. "On Halm," said Obi-Wan, "you knew my name before I gave it. You said the chamber was meant for me. How did you know that?"

"Because I was told you'd be there."

"By who?" Obi-Wan demanded.

Palmer uncrossed his legs and stood. He faced the far wall, denying Obi-Wan his expression. "I almost killed him on sight," he mused. "We fought to a stalemate. It was apparent he desired not to kill me. Even a fool knows to listen to one who refuses to be an enemy. So I opened my ears, man."

"Who was he?"

Palmer heard the desperation in Obi-Wan's voice. He knew the answer he wanted. "He looked about seventy. Wore a Jedi's cloak, though he certainly wasn't one. His eyes were pain personified. He was a ghost in a body."

Obi-Wan's lips were a straight line. "What was his name?"

Palmer turned to face him. "Never told me," he said, relishing Obi-Wan's disappointment. "But he had a great deal to say. About the Architects. He told me the story on the walls of that chamber. And he told me where to find it."

Obi-Wan's confidence belied a knot in his stomach. "And me? Why was I important to him?"

"I didn't ask. I didn't care," laughed Palmer. "But he was adamant. He knew you were coming."

Obi-Wan took a breath, trying to place the account in his growing puzzle. "Did he say anything about Vader? About Padme?"

A cruel grin tugged at Palmer's mouth. "Not as such." At Obi-Wan's stare, he expounded: "He said he'd failed at his duty—allowed evil to kill innocence. He didn't mean it conceptually. He was talking about people."

Palmer's conjecture hung in the air—a frozen bullet. Obi-Wan's brows pressed toward his eyes. The cool dread of inevitability snapped down his spine. "Where did he go?" he asked.

"He vanished in the night. Could be anywhere now."

Somehow it felt like the key to everything, but like nothing at the same time. Palmer was the emblem of unreliable narrators. Obi-Wan pulled his cloak tighter and walked to the door. "Tell no one what we've discussed," he said over his shoulder.

Palmer smiled, signing a cross on his heart.

* * *

His conversation with Palmer left Obi-Wan shaken. Padme's story, and the ex-Jedi's, seemed perfectly in sync. He couldn't deny the inevitable conclusion. What did that mean? What did that make him? Were they two different people? And what of the soul, now bifurcated?

The com-room door slid shut behind him. He eased into a chair, stroking keys on a console. A hologram of Coruscant appeared in front of him.

"Location, please," a computerized voice said.

"Jedi Temple," replied Obi-Wan.

"Who do you wish to contact?"

"I wish to reach Master—"

Piercing alarms rang from the speakers. All the lights flashed red. He leapt from his chair. It hit the wall with a bang. He shot into the corridor, rushing to the cockpit. R2 received him with a strident beep.

"What's going on?" Obi-Wan demanded.

R2 reported engine failure. Landon burst in, taking the pilot's seat. He flipped a switch and studied the screen. "We're losing power," he said breathlessly. "We'll never make it to Mareth. We have twenty minutes—tops."

Obi-Wan pulled up a star chart. His eyes darted over the nearby planets. "There's only one world in range," he reported. "Axxila."

Landon blanched, freezing in place. He shook it off before Obi-Wan noticed. "Then I guess we're going to Axxila."

* * *

The ship rocked, throwing R2 against the wall. He gave a low whine but kept pace with the Jedi.

Obi-Wan ran into the engine room, finding Miler and Aayla. He ignored their dishevelment (and Aayla wearing Miler's jacket). "What's the situation?" he asked.

A panel was pried off, revealing machinery. Pristine wires, and tubes that pulsed with blue light, were obscured by white gas. Miler waved at it as it plumed in his face. "We've got a coolant leak—pretty bad," he said flatly. "The regulator mus' be tot'ly shot."

Miler removed a panel from the undercarriage. He crawled under to examine it, but it was all too dark. Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber, directing its glow. Miler squinted and looked in. The coolant regulator, an intricate cylinder, was riddled with incisions. They were too precise to reflect incidental damage.

"What do you see?" Obi-Wan asked.

Miler crawled out, covered in soot. His blackened face was set grimly. "This wasn't an accident."

Aayla swallowed. "You're not suggesting—"

Obi-Wan's eyes hardened, glowing in his saber light. "We have a saboteur."


	20. The Reluctant Mover

The Dawn Tangent lurched through the atmosphere, spitting smoke in its wake. Pedestrians ducked, scattered as the ship roared along the cityscape. The sheer force of its passing destroyed kiosks in the market. The tallest, leanest buildings rattled violently.

"Bweeeeeep!"

"Shut up!" growled Landon.

Sweat stung his eyes. He blinked rapidly as the ship careened right. A massive bridge—full of people—loomed huge in the window.

"Bweep bweep bweep!"

"I see it!" he shouted, diving down. The ship caromed off the ocean. The resulting splash cracked the cockpit window. Landon pulled up, completing a barrel roll, and streaked toward the heart of the city.

"Bweeeep?!"

"Find me a landing pad!"

R2 showed him two options. The first was too far; the second was between two large towers.

"Great choice, asshole!"

"Bweep!"

"Just shut up! You got a real mouth for a metal box!"

Checking the map, he realized the landing pad was ten stories below him. He skimmed over a rooftop, then entered a nosedive. The Tangent shot straight down the side of the building. Its sonic boom shattered the windows.

Landon's eyes slitted. His jaw clenched against g-force. Barely lucid, he saw their destination. Hand over hand, he pulled on the stick. The ship flattened out, Landon's seatbelt restraining him. R2 rolled in reverse out of the cockpit, screeching the whole way.

The engine caught fire. Alarms rang everywhere. Steeling his spine, Landon shot toward the landing pad. The trajectory was wrong; he needed to shave speed.

Landon jerked the stick left, taking the ship into a spiral. The resulting g-force sucked his face back. The ship spun five times—finding the center. Landon fired thrusters. The ship stopped on a dime and dropped on its belly, bouncing twice before settling. The air from the spiral had put out the fire.

Everything was still. Only the ringing in his head broke up the quiet.

Landon lay his head back. "How do you like me now?" he mumbled.

Outside, a crowd of pedestrians marveled at his feat. Less impressed was the Toydarian manager, a small, winged creature with a long nose curving down and two orange eyes on either side of its head.

Landon shut off all systems, opening the vents to allow air from outside. Exiting the cockpit, he found Obi-Wan at the ramp.

"Very graceful," Obi-Wan said.

"No, but we're _very_ alive."

"Stay here."

Lowering the ramp, Obi-Wan walked outside to meet the Toydarian.

"Hey! What's the big idea?" its gravelly voice demanded. "You weren't cleared to land!"

Obi-Wan smiled charmingly. "Sorry, friend. We had a bit of engine trouble. It was an emergency."

The Toydarian stroked its whiskers. "Emergency, eh? Well, I am a reasonable man. I could permit you to stay—for an extra fee."

"How much?"

"Five thousand for the landing pad. Another ten for the trouble."

It was only a dent in their funds. Obi-Wan sighed, forcing a grimace. "Very well. Fifteen thousand."

He pressed his thumb to a data pad. When the pad blinked green, the Toydarian grinned. "Very good! The landing pad is yours. But if you give me any problems, additional fees apply."

Obi-Wan warded off an eye-roll. He returned to the ship, finding the crew gathered.

"How much did that cost us?" Padme wondered.

"Don't ask. What's our situation?"

"The regulator's shot," Miler said, wiping his face with a rag. "There's no way t'fix it. We'll have t'find a new one."

"Will that be difficult?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Afrai' so, Gen'ral. This ship's somethin' of a luxury. Parts are rare."

Padme said, "In other words, we won't find it at the local shop."

Obi-Wan's mind flashed to his old master. Qui-Gon once told him that you can find any _thing_ any _where_ if you're willing to get dirty. "Mr. Solo, I believe this is your territory."

"Me?" Landon scoffed. "What do I have to do with it?"

"Your trade is smuggling rare goods. That is how we met."

"I don't think I appreciate your insinuation."

"Mr. Solo, I shall not cast a stone," Obi-Wan said. "I'm simply asking for your expertise. Surely you have contacts—someone plugged in to the 'secondary' market?"

Landon's neck coiled, straining his shoulders. For the first time, Obi-Wan felt his uneasiness. Whatever this planet held for Landon disrupted his mental shield. "Sorry, boss. Never been through here."

"You're clearly lying," said Miler.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Bweeeeep," R2 said.

Miler sighed. "Not R2. 'Are too.'"

The droid whined softly.

"Gentlemen," Obi-Wan interceded, "let's raise the level of discourse, shall we?" He held Landon's gaze. "Mr. Solo, whatever danger Axxila holds for you, the fact remains: we are stranded here without a coolant regulator. And the longer we're stranded, the more likely it is that danger will find you."

Landon was walking on a razor if he stepped outside. Yet Obi-Wan's logic sharply registered. "There may be someone," Landon conceded finally. "Haven't seen him in years. If he's still here, he'll be in the refugee sector."

Obi-Wan's eyes crackled as a plan formed. "Let's find out. We'll stay in contact. In the meantime—"

Miler cut him off: "Gen'ral, given our situation, might ya wanna stay here?"

Obi-Wan took his point. If there was a saboteur, they might act again. "Perhaps you're right. But someone—"

"I'll go," said Miler. He smiled brightly, slapping Landon's shoulder. "We'll play nice—right, mate?"

Landon scowled. He could smack that grin right off his face. "Sure," he drawled.

"Very well. Try to keep a low profile," Obi-Wan said. "And take R2; he can scan for deficiencies."

"I should go, too," Aayla said.

"It's too dangerous. The slavers take Twi'leks right off the street."

"I'll be fine. I can—"

Miler touched her shoulder, proffered calm through some osmosis. Aayla felt it in her bones. Her stare softened and broke.

Landon rolled his eyes. "Can we move this along? Before I vomit?" Padme fixed him with a glare. "What? We were all thinking it."

* * *

Miler grabbed his blaster, slotting it in the holster. He felt better balanced with the weight of his weapon.

"Are you all right?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Aye, I'm fine."

The Jedi glanced at the corridor. He kept his voice low. "Do you really think it's him?"

"I'll find out either way."

"I'm sure you will. Unless, of course, _you're_ the saboteur."

"I could be," Miler said.

"Are you?"

"No."

"Well, that's one down then," Obi-Wan deadpanned.

They turned to find Aayla looking nervous and tentative. These things she wore poorly, for she had little practice. Obi-Wan couldn't help a feeling of concern. Under the weight of distraction, missions can buckle. He resolved to address this with Aayla later.

"Could ya give us a moment?" Miler asked Obi-Wan.

"A _moment_."

Miler's calm mask fell from his face. He took her hands, finding solace in their smoothness. Aayla said, "This isn't the 'morning after' I was hoping for."

Miler squeezed her fingers. "We'll have plenty o'chances to get it right."

There it was again: that boundless optimism. She thought she could bathe in it as she basked in the Force. Yet the Force was forever. He was mortal. "I was always afraid of love," Aayla said quietly. "Now all I fear is being without it."

"Brave heart. Y'never will be."

Aayla took a breath, letting his promise wash over her. She lifted his hand to place on her cheek. "Don't turn your back on him."

"Not for a second."

Aayla rose up to kiss him. He vigorously responded. Nothing in his life had ever felt so right.

Miler slowly released her, rubbing their noses. He kissed her forehead and they walked to the hallway. Julian stood there leaning on the wall. Aayla kept going, while Miler hung back.

Julian grinned. "Another connection from the 'love doctor.'"

"Sod off," said Miler.

The doctor chuckled, before his face became solemn. "Be careful, yeah?"

"I'll see ya soon, mate."

* * *

Vader's shuttle set down in the Invisible Hand. The frantic crew suspended its duties. The safest place to be was beyond a Sith's notice.

Vader stalked down the ramp, received by Grievous.

"Report," said Vader.

"Troops have been dispatched," Grievous said. "But the Halmans are resourceful. Victory will take time." The droid-man hurried on: "Lord Sidious wishes to speak with you. You may contact him by hologram."

Grievous remained very still in his trademark slouch. Vader swept past him, entered the elevator. When the dark lord was gone, activity resumed. The crew moved double-time to make up for their respite.

* * *

Coruscant and Sarna were universes unto themselves. Yet for all their majesty, all their darkness, they didn't hold a candle to the excess and danger of Axxila's cityscape.

The market was bustling, store-over-store stacked high into the clouds. The ground level was filled with kiosks, where shady merchants pushed souvenirs. Miler was polite in refusing their inquiries. He knew what it was like scraping by.

Ever aware of Neecho's bounty, Landon moved about warily. His contact, "Diablo," had connections to the junta and the blackest black market. They certainly weren't friends, but they'd struck a lot of deals.

Straight ahead was an an old arena fighter. Landon once screwed her out of thousands of credits.

He turned sharply into an alley, filled with trash and graffiti. Empty, stinking barrels were strewn all about.

Miler buried his nose in his collar. "Ya seem to know your way around. Any reason we're slinkin' in the dark?"

"'Cause people see you in the light."

The alley fed them to a backstreet. Landon felt Miler track his every move. The scrutiny was intolerable.

Landon smirked. "So, you and the Twi'lek—" Miler silenced him with a look. He'd pulled the right string. Now it was Miler off-balance.

"This way," said Landon.

* * *

Aayla sat in the cargo hold, examining sabers. Those with imperfections were set aside for repair. The monotony of the task was mildly comforting.

The door whooshed open. Padme sat down on a crate, folding her hands.

"Is something wrong?" Aayla asked.

"Yes," said Padme. "My friend looks sad."

"Are we friends?"

"Would you prefer we weren't?"

"No!" Aayla cried a little too quickly. "No, of course not. I'm just not used to having one."

"Me neither," said Padme. "I suppose our work leaves little time for it."

Aayla picked up the next saber, turning it in her palm. "One of many sacrifices."

"He's going to be fine," Padme said.

Aayla's blush deepened. She weighed the truth's repercussions before finally breaking. "Attachments are forbidden. I'm no use in this state."

"Why do you say that?"

"I can hardly focus," Aayla condemned herself.

Padme projected herself onto Aayla's quandary. "Worry is inevitable. When you care for someone, it's part of the package."

"You seem to handle it better than me."

Padme grunted. "Hardly. But I'm a politician. We're trained to be droids."

"Master Kenobi _is_ partial to droids," Aayla said.

Padme's mouth opened then closed. "We're talking about _you_."

"We're talking about _attachments_."

"Obi-Wan doesn't feel for me in that way."

"Oh my," Aayla chortled. "I take instructions from the blind."

Padme glared, but it dissolved into laughter. She felt, at once, embarrassed and relieved. Somehow her feelings were more real for having been discovered. She pinched her lip between two fingers. "We're hopeless, aren't we?"

"Completely," Aayla said.

* * *

Obi-Wan waited as the link was established. On the fifth beep, Yoda appeared in a swirl of blue light. He looked tired and drawn, leaning on his crutch. His grooved forehead sagged over his eyes.

"Master Kenobi. Glad to hear from you, I am. Reports, we received from Halm," Yoda said.

"It was a terrible business. The scale of it—" Obi-Wan banished the thought. "We found what we needed."

"A trail of breadcrumbs, have you?" Obi-Wan nodded. Yet rather than elaborate, he only stared blankly. "Troubled, you are," Yoda observed. "Reveal your feelings."

"I've discovered something else. It could change everything."

" _Speak_."

"When you gave me this mission, you intimated my importance. You described my birth as unnatural—'redundant.' I believe you were right, Master; I am an echo in the Force. Padme—"

Yoda's image flickered. For a split second, a Sith officer took its place. Just as quickly, Yoda's face reappeared.

Obi-Wan flinched back. His heart beat double-time. The transmission had been intercepted!

He killed the link, causing Yoda to vanish. He sank in his chair with a quiet gasp. _How?_ He'd sent the transmission through a thousand proxies. Not even a droid could break the code.

Perhaps it wasn't intercepted. With technical knowledge, an inside man could have bugged the com unit, setting it to relay messages to the Sith.

Obi-Wan checked the unit for evidence of tampering. None was apparent.

He pulled up a log of communications. His call to Yoda was the only one listed. But there were signs of another entry deleted from the record. Obi-Wan burned with frustration. He was still a step behind.

* * *

The refugee sector was home to the wretches of war-torn worlds. Men, women, and children slept in makeshift shelters made from containers. They awaited word of asylum from the Sith or Republic. But news moved slowly.

Petty criminals thrived in the refugee sector. It was the one place on Axxila the Hutts couldn’t touch. Over many years, Landon had made good money here.

He led Miler and R2 to the middle of the encampment. Under a dirty red awning was a humanoid insect. Diablo was two meters tall, with golden skin; three-clawed hands and feet; and a deep, narrow head that ended in a beak. His upper lip, covered in tattoos, wrinkled at Landon.

"As I live and breathe," hissed Diablo. "Landon Solo..."

The scoundrel smirked. "Nice to see you're still preying on the weak."

"As though you don't?"

"It wasn't a criticism."

Diablo vibrated with what might've been a laugh. "I see you're traveling with companions. Or are they clients?"

"Jus' a concerned party," Miler said.

"I can understand why. The man you travel with is not well thought of."

Landon said quickly, "I'm not here to reminisce, Diablo. I'm here to help you make money."

Diablo's pincher teeth showed in a smile. "You always were a good samaritan."

"My ship's been damaged. I need a specialized part."

"Indeed? Special is expensive."

"I've got the credits," said Landon. "You'll get your finder's fee."

Diablo looked between them. His beady black eyes betrayed no inner monologue.

Something felt wrong. Miler's neck hair stood on end. He thought he was being watched. But a quick look around revealed no observers.

Diablo reached for a data pad. He skimmed the contents before smiling at a name. "Very well, Mr. Solo. You will have your specialized part."

* * *

Sidious stood at a viewport, regarded the far-flung galaxies, resolving all would someday be his. That's if he beat the Jedi to the artifact. Obi-Wan Kenobi was more resourceful than expected.

Dooku cleared his throat. "My lord, I've just received word: our agent has succeeded. General Kenobi's ship was diverted to Axxila. And we have the next the puzzle piece: a planet called Mareth. I've dispatched an advance team. We have a significant advantage, despite Vader's failure."

Sidious smiled enigmatically. Starlight poured through the window so his rotted teeth glowed. His intention behind it was a mystery to Dooku.

A red light on his throne marked an incoming message. "Leave me," said Sidious.

Vader's hologram appeared at the center of the room. Even in monochrome, Sidious saw the blood on him. "Lord Vader, I trust you're unharmed."

"I am, my master," the hologram replied. "I engaged General Kenobi, but he was saved by his minions."

"His time will come, my apprentice. But now you're needed elsewhere."

"I am ready to serve."

Sidious relished the moment. Vader and his team were about to end the war. "I've been informed the planet Mareth could you lead to the artifact. You're to join the advance team and _find me the Mercy Seat_."

* * *

Vader bowed. "It will be done, Lord Sidious."

The hologram flickered out. Vader's sycophantic frown vanished from his face. After all these years, it was finally time to take what he was due.

He walked to the bridge, joining Grievous and his Horsemen. "Commander Argyle," he ordered, "set a course for Lord Sidious' flagship."

Argyle squinted. "Sir?"

"I will only ask once, Commander."

Argyle swallowed. His head snapped to the helmsman. "You heard the man! Lay in a course!"

Grievous stood at Vader's side, his mechanized voice not quite a whisper. "Your order is... surprising, Lord Vader."

"I will abide no questions," Vader said. "If you serve me, I will make you more powerful than you can possibly fathom. If you do not..."

The droid-man's jaundiced eyes fixed on Vader's. Suddenly this Sith scared him more than Darth Sidious. Grievous bowed to his new master, before stalking to his office.

"What do you intend?" Demic asked Vader.

The fallen Jedi grinned wickedly beneath his black hood. "We're going to kill Darth Sidious."


	21. What You Seek

_Smoke and Jizz music filled the dirty bar. A Bith band cut loose while scoundrels consorted. The bar was off-limits to Axxila's police, bribed into negligence by the criminal upper-class._

_The Boy sat in the back with a glass of Juma. It was a long, strange day. He made 200 credits picking pockets in the market. But he was sore from being chased._

_He was halfway to drunk when a Bothan named Corren approached his table. Corren_ _had an equine face and dirty fur mane. A well-worn light-whip hung from his belt. Human cronies stood in his shadow._

" _You're in my chair," Corren snarled._

_The Boy grinned. "Finders keepers. This is Axxila, after all." He touched his belt, confirming his blaster._

" _You must have a death wish."_

" _Yeah, but whose death?" The Boy fired under the table. Corren screamed as a blaster bolt ripped through his side._

_The Boy shot two thugs. He leapt from his seat, tackling the others. His blaster slid away. But he grabbed one of theirs. He shot one man dead—but the last one pounced._

_The man punched him in the jaw. He kneed him in the stomach. The Boy cracked him with the blaster. He started to get up—but met Corren's whip. It cut through his pants, searing his leg, prompting a scream.  
_

_Corren whipped him again. The Boy's skin was sizzling. Corren raised it a third time, but someone caught his wrist.  
_

_Augustan Roth, a male Cathar, with striped yellow-brown skin and dark feline eyes, twitched his whiskers in disapproval. Corren and his minion made a hasty retreat._

_The Boy looked up at Augustan. He knew his face from countless news vids._ _'The Fist of Neecho,' they called him._

_Augustan held out his hand. "What is your name?"_

_After a pregnant pause, The Boy took his palm._

" _Solo," he said._

Crayton Manor was an elitist ghost town. Its dilapidated mansions were corpses of splendor. Rats roamed freely, eating rotted remnants.

At the center of the neighborhood was a grass labyrinth. Once this was for children. Now dark brown, overgrown in abandonment, it resembled the underworld. A lavish gazebo stood by the entrance. That's where Diablo's seller waited.

Miler instructed R2 to stay hidden. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he told Landon. "We should've radioed Obi-Wan."

"Relax, would you? It's all in your head."

"I don' aim t'die in this miserable place."

Landon sighed. "Kid, your existentialism is _exhausting_. Just pay attention, okay?"

They approached the gazebo. Diablo's seller was tan and middle-aged, with a slight paunch but imposing muscle. His skin was craggy but clean, a man come from nothing who now had it all.

"Howdy," drawled Landon.

Miler looked at his collar: general's bars. His inner voice screamed out a warning. Why would a general handle this personally?

"I trust you brought credits?" the General asked.

Landon smiled tightly. "First the regulator."

"Of course. A moment." He walked to the bench and retrieved a small box.

Miler's heart began to pound. The box was too small. There was no regulator. He drew his blaster and shot the General between the eyes. Blood and grist splashed on the pillars.

"Kid, what the hell—!"

The quiet night exploded with voices. Two-dozen soldiers appeared in the darkness. They swarmed the gazebo, screaming not to move.

Miler hopped the back railing, Landon following. They ran into the labyrinth, trailed by gunfire. At the first junction in the maze, Miler yelled to split up. He went left, Landon right. They had to reach the end before the maze was surrounded.

The overgrown bramble stabbed Miler at every turn. Half his face was scraped and bloody.

Miler hit a dead end. Dread coiled his stomach. He heard footsteps behind him. He whirled back and gunned down a soldier. More were coming. He set his blaster to scattershot and blew a hole in the maze wall. He squeezed himself through and took the next path.

Landon turned at a junction. Two soldiers were waiting. He caught one off-guard, blew him away. The other one lunged. Landon sidestepped him, mashing his face into the bramble. He silenced his scream with a point-blank blast. Landon wiped his eyes to clear the man's brains.

He took another turn, and he saw the exit! Landon rushed toward it. But suddenly the exit was darkened with soldiers. Shit shit shit!

He blew a hole in the maze wall. He moved to crawl through—but there were soldiers waiting. The maze was surrounded. No way out.

The soldiers took aim but held off firing.

Landon took it as a sign, dropping his blaster. There was only one reason not to kill him: he was worth more alive. Landon's heart pounded. He had only one chance. He tapped his comlink and screamed in a whisper: "Neecho!"

Across the maze, Miler grappled with a soldier. He blasted him with a punch. Then he put him in a choke-hold. He used him as a sponge when another soldier fired. When the body was used up, Miler tossed it away. Then he gunned down the other soldier.

Miler's pulse throbbed in his neck. Where was Landon? He took the next path. Another dead end. The whir of a jet pack sounded above him.

He looked up at a Bounty Hunter in Mandalorian armor. The Hunter fired his wrist rocket. Miler rolled clear, squeezing off a shot. The Hunter strafed, fired again. Miler dodged once more. The grass wall exploded, raining on his head.

Miler took aim through a pile of bramble. He fired at the jet pack. The tank exploded, engulfing the Hunter in flames. He fought with the straps, tearing himself free. He plummeted to the ground. The wind from his fall put out the fire.

The Hunter tried to stand. Miler kicked him in the helmet, throwing him to his back.

The Hunter swept his legs. He mounted Miler, threw an armor-backed punch. Miler's cheekbone shattered. The Hunter paused a split second to admire the damage.

Miler took a knife from the Hunter's belt. He jammed it in his shoulder through a gap in the armor. The Hunter screamed. Miler yanked the knife free, before he plunged it in his neck.

He staggered to his feet—facing another soldier. The butt of a rifle smashed his forehead. Miler fell to the ground, grasping futilely for a gun, until at last the world went black.

* * *

Obi-Wan found her seated on her bed. Padme looked up with a beaming smile that died on the vine. "Obi-Wan? Are you okay?"

"Our predicament may be worse than I realized."

"What's happened?"

He sat beside her, lowering his voice. "I believe our saboteur is in direct contact with the Sith. I think Sidious is aware of everything on the ship."

Padme's breath hitched. "How do you know?"

"I was speaking with Master Yoda. For a moment, a Sith appeared in his place. And someone deleted an unauthorized communication."

She couldn't imagine a worse danger. "If the Sith know about Mareth, they could already be there. We might've lost everything."

"We've lost _some_ thing, but not _every_ thing," Obi-Wan said with determination. "I intend we'll lose nothing more. Everyone on this ship, except you and I, is a suspect."

Padme creased her forehead. "You can't mean that."

"There is too much at stake to let sentiment control us."

"Miler saved our lives," Padme reminded him.

"I believe, in my heart, that Miler is a good man. I want to believe that about everyone. But this is war, Padme. A war we're losing." He understood the disbelief that colored her countenance. He rose from the bed, beginning to pace. "Not all suspects are created equally. I don't think it's Miler."

Padme's shoulders relaxed. Emotion was supplanted by professional detachment. "Everything we know about Landon Solo says he'd betray us for profit."

"You're not wrong. But he seems genuinely terrified to be on this planet. I can't imagine him diverting here on purpose."

"You told me before that certain people, even people without the Force, can hide their true feelings. What if that's what he wants you to think?" Obi-Wan nodded. Padme pictured the cold eyes of their newest passenger: "What do you know about Palmer Trask?"

"Very little," replied Obi-Wan. "Supposedly, he left the Order over objections to the war. But he doesn't strike me as a humanitarian."

He turned away suddenly, hiding his expression, but Padme circled around him, waiting patiently without giving ground.

"There is another possibility," Obi-Wan said. His pained expression tugged at her heart. “Many Jedi have fallen in this war. Every Jedi is tempted by their baser urges, secret desires for power and inclusion."

Obi-Wan picked up a data pad. She watched him search the Jedi Archives.

If the Dark Side is a place you inhabit when you die, he was certain he'd burn there. Obi-Wan played a recording: _"Session one, Quinn Pascal. Patient is uncooperative, refusing basic questions. This combative posture implies unresolved anger. Further sessions are recommended to continue my assessment."_

Padme searched his face. She had her own doubts about the reptilian. "I don't know him. But he is reclusive. He is arrogant. Are these not traits of the Sith?"

"They can be, in abundant quantity. But even Yoda can be reclusive and arrogant. It's not enough to convince me."

"Then we're running out of options," Padme pointed out. "It's certainly not Aayla. So who does that—" She stopped cold when he wavered. "Obi-Wan..."

"I can't ignore the possibility," Obi-Wan said. "I can't let my association cloud my judgment."

"Your _association_? She's one of your best friends!"

Obi-Wan's eyes cast down. Immediately, she regretted her tone. She might have felt better if he'd screamed his reply. "Yes, she is," he said softly. He looked at the data pad. After a moment's hesitation, he played a recording: _"Session four, Aayla Secura. Patient exhibits anger, frustration, and paranoia connected to her current master's health as well as the betrayal of her former one. I would call her likelihood to fall moderate and recommend that she be closely monitored."_

* * *

Aayla fiercely debated her confiding in Padme. It was foolish, reckless, yet it made her feel better. There were competing voices in her: Jedi Knight and inner spirit. The former proved louder. _"You shouldn't have done that"_ became her personal motto.

She was surprised to find Quinn outside Palmer's quarters. His eyes were closed in light meditation. Immediately, she knew he was spying with the Force.

He didn't move as she approached.

"He is an interesting man," Quinn said.

Aayla crossed her arms. "I only know him by reputation."

"He's the only Jedi to leave the Order without joining the Sith."

"Are we certain he hasn't?"

Quinn's eyes slipped open. The reptilian faced her with genuine curiosity. "I would hear your concerns."

"Would you now?" Aayla said flatly. "You've shown no interest in the past."

The hiss in his voice was sharper from aggravation. "A Jedi watches before speaking. I wanted to determine if your counsel was worthwhile."

"How flattering for me."

"Are your skills with a lightsaber in a league with your tongue?"

"Well, I'm not dead yet, Jedi."

Quinn's face twisted in a look that could have meant anything. He turned to the door as if it were Palmer. "There is darkness there. It's simply a matter of how much. We all have a tipping point. Including you, Knight Secura."

Aayla flinched back, but she didn't give way. "Temptation is a fallacy. Fallen Jedi are only Sith the Dark Side didn't want yet."

"How liberating that we do not have to choose."

She knew he was mocking her. Worse, she felt her annoyance edging toward anger.

Her response was preempted by the sound of the ship's ramp. They exchanged a look, rushing to the back of the ship. R2 rolled up the ramp, shrieking wildly.

Aayla ripped out her com-link. "Obi-Wan! We need you right now!"

* * *

_There's nothing intuitive about fighting hand to hand. It's all repetition, the memory of pain._

" _Get up!" yelled Augustan._

_The Boy's trembling arms pushed him to his knees. Two bloody teeth lay in the dirt. He struggled to his feet._

" _He has life yet! Let us see how much!"_

_The Boy subsisted on anger. At Augustan, his parents. At the universe for birth._

_He threw a clumsy punch. Augustan blocked, landing a headbutt. The Boy fell on his back. August laid into him with the point of his boot. The Boy began to vomit. He curled on his side.  
_

" _That is enough," a throaty voice said. "Today's training is over."_

 _A_ _Duros man with luminous red eyes pulled him to his feet.  
_

_The Boy said between gulps of air, "I'm sorry. Neecho. I. Failed you. Again."_

_Neecho's bony fingers stroked the Boy's hair. "You have not failed me. You continue to get stronger." His voice was fatherly, soothing. "I have great plans for you."  
_

Landon grimaced as he and Miler were thrown on metal slabs. The room was otherwise empty, except for a bright light.

Two thugs took his arms, placing them in restraints. "Hey! Not too tight!"

"Sorry. It's his first torture," Miler said.

Beneath his facade, Miler's mind raced. Where were they, and why? Had the Hutts joined the Sith? Or was Landon behind this? Was this just an act to maintain his cover?

The metal door whined open. Augustan Roth walked inside. He took off his work gloves, placing them in his pocket. His whiskered face was set in a scowl. "Landon Solo..."

"That's sweet," drawled Landon. "You remember me."

"It took some expense to bring you here. The Twi'leks were some of our best men. It's regrettable that you killed them."

"Add it to my bill."

Miler's mind flashed back to the cantina. The Twi'leks who killed Rondo. Only once they were gone did Landon appear. Suddenly everything made sense.

He whispered harshly, "What have you done?"

Red eyes sparkled in the shadowy hall. A black figure entered, slowly coalescing. His scarred-over face gleamed in the light. Over plated armor, he wore a long brown jacket that flapped in his wake. Beneath it, his belt was empty despite loops for a blaster. This man could not conceive he'd ever be in danger.

Neecho walked to the center of the room. There he met the eyes of a panicked Landon. "You led me on quite a chase, Mr. Solo." For once, the scoundrel said nothing. Neecho walked between the slabs, sinewy fingers skimming the metal. He could smell the sweat on Landon's neck. He stood behind them, becoming a disembodied voice. "Have you ever heard the Neiomodian myth of creation?"

"I wouldn't think so," he said after a silence. "They're so obsessed with wealth and power, they've forgotten how to tell it. Perhaps, in time, I'll forget it myself. So carry it with you, for however long you live."

He scratched the metal by Landon's head. The sound was a counterweight to Neecho's calm voice. "Once, there was only darkness. No ground beneath us. No stars in the sky. We existed, but we did not know. For what is life without light? Thus we drifted, never dead but never waking. Until, one day, the Bringer of Darkness realized his error. He had wrongly assumed our understanding. We— _people—_ failed in our mandate to make holes in the blackness, that we might see what lay beyond."

Neecho circled them, standing before Landon. His raging red eyes belied his warm voice. "The Bringer of Darkness showed us how to make holes. Thus we glimpsed the other side. But were we grateful? Did we reward him? Certainly not." He leaned toward Landon so the scoundrel felt his breath. "Because we fashion _ourselves_ Bringers. We seldom remember that life was _given_ to us."

Landon refused to look away. He wouldn't be mocked—not at the end.

"What do you want?" Miler demanded. "Whatever he owes ya, we can reach an understanding."

 _'Shut up, kid!'_ Landon screamed inside. Every memory of the dead, those who came in the fog of sleep to remind him what he was, crashed into his brain. He was as good as dead; he'd known it in the maze. But Miler had a chance.

"What I want is not yours to offer," said Neecho. "I've waited years for restitution. And it's finally here. Tell me, Mister Solo: were those million credits worth your life?"

Landon forced a grin. "No. But knowing I conned you? Yeah, that felt pretty good."

Neecho straightened, eyes squinting with pleasure. "I hope it was worth this moment. The pain I'm about to bring you." He gestured to Augustan. "Show our guest in."

* * *

Obi-Wan released his fear into the Force. "The coolant regulator is still our priority."

Aayla gasped. "You're going to _leave_ them?"

"No, I'm not giving up on them. But the mission is paramount. You and I will ascertain their location. Everyone else is to find this 'Diablo.' He's still our best chance of getting the regulator."

A spectral smile crossed Palmer's face. "Perhaps I should lead the interrogation. Jedi morals are cumbersome."

"I won't submit to false choices," Obi-Wan said. "He's a common thug. Fear of your power will quite suffice."

Julian didn't appreciate their singular focus. "How do we find Miler?"

"Landon gave R2 a name," Padme reminded him. "Neecho."

Obi-Wan said, "I heard it on Sarna. He's some kind of crime lord. We'll found out where he is. Once the ship's repaired, we can launch a rescue."

Perhaps moved by Aayla's pain, or merely impatient, Quinn grabbed his saber and made a beeline for the ramp. Palmer followed languidly.

Obi-Wan took Julian's arm. "Stay focused. We'll get them back, Doctor. But you need to do your part."

" _Tear him apart!" a voice screamed._

_His rib was broken. Its newly pointed end was piercing his lung. Angry tears pricked at his eyes.  
_

_The crowd reveled in his plight. He heard approving howls, jeers of laughter._

_In a moment of perfect clarity, he suddenly realized that fate didn't matter._ _Everything in the universe, all that existed, could be stolen. If his destiny was to die, he'd take someone else's._

_The Barabel stood over him, wielding a blade. The fight was long over. Now she was having fun._

_She nudged him with her boot. His murky vision fell on the throne chair above the arena. He saw two of Neecho, completely expressionless. What was he thinking? Would he let this happen?_

_The Barabel grabbed him, dragging him to his feet. The crowd cried in unison: "Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"_

_The Boy blinked away everything.  
_

_With a rush of adrenaline, he grabbed her claw with both hands, thrusting upwards, the Barabel's own blade jamming in her throat, green blood spouting out, pouring through the cracks between the Boy's fingers, more and more, faster and faster, and the crowd knew not what to do, knew not what it wished for, and as the Boy slid down her body, crumpling on the ground, he thought it might've been the best he ever felt._

_Twelve hours later, when he awoke from his surgeries, a familiar Duros sat by his bed. Neecho's cold blue fingers rested on his arm. The Boy rolled his head, groggy but painless. His lips twitched into a smile._

_"Han Solo," Neecho whispered, "you are ready for what you seek."_


	22. Burn It Away

I submit there's nothing more dangerous than a memory buried. Which other foe, beaten time and again, continues to manifest? Its funereal shroud can be shed in an instant, releasing it anew to wreak havoc on the living. And this, too, I submit (though with far less conviction): only the light of our eyes can burn it away.

The Boy's blood-stained boots clopped on the floor. Slightly deformed knuckles tapped his leg. Landon saw his wife's cheekbones, his own strong jaw. But nothing of either of them presented beneath.

Landon was stripped bare. Gone was the armor of sarcastic surety. Fear, regret; somehow they were one, like a ship dropped out of hyperspace inside an asteroid.

"Hi, Dad," the Boy snarled.

"Han..."

"Nothing to say? You fucking coward."

Landon's eyes squeezed shut before opening wide. "Han, why are you here? Do you know who he is? Do you know what he's done?"

"And who are _you_?" Han growled. "How many people have _you_ killed? He knows the answer. How about you, Dad?"

With each silence, Han's confidence grew. His eyes screamed the fury he held from his voice. "It took years to prepare, but I knew it was worth it. I will beat you into nothing. Cut the pain from my heart."

He gnarled, "But before I do, I have a _lot_ of things to get off my chest. And you're going to listen."

Neecho reveled in the ghostly gray pallor of Landon's face. Pride swelled in him for the boy's moment of triumph.

"Let's start with my mother," Han moaned in a broken voice. "The one who stayed. The one who never gave up. Do you know what she did without your blood money? She worked at a garbage dump. Those aren't regulated on Nar Shadda. A man could dump anything. Like contaminated ships carrying disease." Han faltered, raising a fist to his mouth. The memory he thought dealt with punched up through the ground. "And now—" He cleared his throat, imbuing his tears with cleansing anger. "Now she's lying in a hospital, sleeping through her life."

Landon flinched back. His chest felt hollow. He pictured her face. That expressive face reduced to white canvass; smooth, pure skin crinkled by nothing; her womb, an empty locker, denied the repeated use she'd always intended.

Han said, "There was no one to protect me. I fell in with pirates, running spice from the Kessel mines. They didn't trust me with anything. I was just a mascot. When I lost my shine, they left me for dead."

Landon felt tears rolling down his face.

"For a while, I ate garbage," Han said. "I begged for credits. But after months of being spat on, I finally realized I could take what belonged to people. I robbed them blind, gave them addictions. I was good at it, Dad. It's in my blood—the one thing you gave me."

Miler's heart constricted. He was that sorrowful kid again, dealing spice in a smoky cantina. "I'm sorry." Han snapped his head at him. “I'm so sorry," Miler said again. "I lost both my parents. I was a child, too. I ended up in tha' life, same as you. People don't understand ya didn't have a choice."

Han watched him a long moment. "Your father died. He didn't leave you."

"Aye," allowed Miler. "I can't even imagine. What your father did is unforgivable. But you have a choice now. Ya can take your pain an' paint the stars. Or ya can clench it in your hand, so it scars your palm, and promise yourself that it ends with you." He leaned forward, shackles snapped to their limit. "I wanted more. A life with meaning. That's why I joined the navy."

Han's forehead crinkled. Neecho touched his shoulder and grunted at Miler: "Meaning is not given. It does not come with your rations. It is derived from within."

"I'm makin' a difference," Miler said

"Are you? The Republic is dying. The Sith are winning this war. And you're not even fighting it. You'll die on this table for another man's sin."

Landon yelled, "You son of a bitch! My only mistake was trusting Diablo!"

Neecho's breathy cackle sent a chill down his spine. "Diablo? I wouldn't dignify his call. But _the Sith_ know how to strike a deal."

Miler's stomach plummeted. _The saboteur_. Someone took great pains to get them to Axxila. Landon's capture was planned from the beginning. Now Miler's panic expanded to Aayla and Obi-Wan.

Neecho read his face. "Kenobi does not concern me. I leave him to the Hutts," he waved off. "I have what I want. For Han, and for me."

Father regarded son with abject fear. Landon blinked, and croaked, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to kill you," Han said.

* * *

Axxila owed its habitability to an energy shield. Without it, the fierce swirl of dust, ancient remnants of a volcanic event, would make the air unbreatheable. The shield created an optical effect coloring sunsets blue, belying the hot light that squeezed through the dust to pour on the surface.

A shopkeeper shut down his register and admired the sky. He took a breath, smiling to himself, before suddenly tumbling over a table. A humanoid insect scrambled to his feet and kept running.

Julian hurdled the table, hot in pursuit. He aimed his blaster, but it wouldn't keep steady. His only choice was to catch him. He found another gear, sprinting faster.

Diablo saw a hotel at the end of the street. He burst through the door, knocking over the bellman.

"Hey! What are you—!"

Diablo broke for the staircase. The bellman stood up—until Julian bowled him over.

"So sorry!" cried Julian. He bolted up the stairs.

Diablo stopped at level four, streaking through the hall. He shoved a guest against the wall and ran to an elevator. His clawed hand mashed the control arrow. He could hear Julian sprinting down the hall.

The doors opened. Diablo gasped to find Quinn wielding a lightsaber. The green blade sizzled mere inches from his beak.

Palmer grinned at Quinn's side. "I bet you didn't think that fool knew a Jedi."

* * *

The room was submerged in the Republic database. On one wall were profiles of Neecho and Augustan.

We use the word "monster" to separate evil deeds from our sense of our own potential. In Neecho's case, it fit pretty well. At age fifteen, he murdered his father to take over his empire. When his mother claimed the throne, Neecho killed her, too. So began his brutal career.

Neecho's holograph stared vacantly at Aayla. She imagined Miler at the Duros' mercy. Would he be tortured, killed right away? She felt the Dark Side edging her thoughts.

"Over here!" said Padme.

Aayla spun around. Three disparate landscapes hung in the air. The first was a jungle; the second an ocean; and the third a cave exterior. "What are these?"

"Neecho's compounds," said Padme, hastening to add: "At least according to Republic intelligence."

Axxila held little interest for the Republic. Long ago it gave up on making allies of the Hutts. Any intelligence was shaky at best. "It's what we have said," Obi-Wan. "I suggest—"

Suddenly the projector shut down. Red lights and klaxons filled the Dawn Tangent. The intercom crackled. R2's shrill voice rang from the speakers.

"Proximity alert!" Obi-Wan said.

He made a beeline for the cockpit. Outside the window, an armed junta was approaching. The combined force of droids and bounty hunters, at least seventy in all, seemed to swallow the landing pad. Obi-Wan blanched. Did his crew give him up under interrogation? Or was this the work of the saboteur?

"Oh my god," Padme mumbled.

Obi-Wan pinned her with a look. "Have you ever fired a turret?"

* * *

Landon's head snapped back, cracking the table. The sweet crunch of cartilage dulled the throb in Han's fist.

"Stop it!" cried Miler.

Han's left cross broke Landon's nose. Blood poured from his misaligned nostrils.

Miler shouted again, straining to get free. For all his fantasies of pummeling Landon, the reality was ugly.

Han scowled at the soldier. "Don't judge me. You were never tested like I was."

"I was never _preyed on_ like you were!" Miler shouted. "Don't ya understand? You're not better than your father 'cause you gave 'im a wallop! Don't ya see you're bein' used?"

Neecho caught the brief glimmer—Doubt? Sadness?—that crossed Han's face. He couldn't abide it, not when nirvana impended. "I tire of your backward moralizing!"

Miler implored Han: "Think about what you're doing! What would your mother say? Your mother who didn't change!—when she had every cause to. What would she say?"

Han looked off. His stomach quivered.

Neecho bared his teeth. "She would say it is justice! And you will not stop it!" His head snapped to Augustan. " _Kill him_ ," he demanded.

Landon's head hung on his chest. He was numb, and cold, no longer himself but a distant third-party, standing at a window dirty and tinted, so he didn't know what was real and what was imagination, but what he saw he didn't like, because he was not a good man; he never had been; he saw his mom, The Promise he made her; he believed in The Promise, but as he could no longer keep it, he wouldn't allow it to destroy a good man. _"Kill him_."

"No..." croaked Landon. "Leave... him alone. He... isn't... part of this."

"How touching," sneered Neecho. "You abandoned your son, yet you stand with a brother."

"You—" Landon coughed. "—have me. You're going to kill me. Let him go." He implored his son: "I abandoned you—and your mother. I'm going to die. And I _deserve_ to die. But he's never done anything."

Han watched Miler's breath burst in and out. The skin pulled taut on his angular face.

Neecho knew what he wanted. He squeezed Han's arm in a show of reassurance. "Take this one to the surface," he ordered Augustan. "He is no longer needed."

Han let out a breath.

"No!" cried Miler. "You can't—!"

Augustan slapped him in the face. He took his jaw in his hand. "If you try anything, I will bash your skull in."

Augustan led him by the neck. Miler stumbled to the door, whirling hopelessly. "Landon!"

A watery smirk crossed Landon's face. He could feel a weight lift from his chest.

"See you around, kid.”

* * *

Obi-Wan and Aayla met the junta outside. It was a force of droids and freelance bounty hunters.

Some brandished blades, others blasters. Those who favored close combat stood out front. Jango Fett was their leader, a grizzled Mandalorian trusted by the Hutts. His arrogant malice washed over the Jedi. It might have been enough to stagger a padawan.

"Salutations," said Obi-Wan.

Jango's modulated voice rang from his helmet: "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"You're right about that."

"I'd prefer the full bounty. But corpses still pay."

Obi-Wan lifted his hand in a signal to Padme. The ship's turret powered on, swiveling its aim to the center of the group. He held back a grin to see her come through.

The junta didn't move. A defiant Jango drew his blaster.

"The hard way, then," Obi-Wan said.

Aayla's blade ignited. Cocking it back, she looked at her friend. "Old times?"

"Old times."

The air erupted with blaster fire. Dozens of bolts rained on the Jedi. They deflected like dancers, leaning and spinning. Effortless as it looked, the acrobatics were taxing. A bolt slipped through, singing Aayla's shoulder. She hissed and pressed on.

Back on the ship, Padme measured the enemy. It wasn't lost on her the power she held. But all notion of grace was purged by her purpose.

She wiped her palms, took a breath. She squeezed the trigger.

The turret shook and recoiled, hurling light at man and machine. Droids exploded in a shower of sparks. A dozen bounty hunters were thrown through the air. Arms and legs fell far from their owners.

Padme swallowed her horror, fired again. _"Error,"_ said the computer. _"Weapon malfunction."_ Padme gasped, squeezing again. _"Error. Weapon malfunction."_ She grabbed her comm-link: "R2! The turret's not firing!"

Obi-Wan's blade drew glowing lines through the air. He was still outnumbered, but his odds had improved.

He rushed the contingent with close-quarter weapons. He blocked a Rodian's sword. Then spinning around, he halved him at the waist. Obi-Wan ducked a Gammorean's ax and quickly impaled him.

With one thought through the Force, the rest scattered like dolls. He threw his saber like a spear, pinning a man to the ground. He stomped his head before recalling the blade. Then he swiftly dismembered the rest of his foes.

He snapped his head at Aayla shouting. She was grappling with Jango. The last droids and one Bothan circled around them.

Obi-Wan leapt overtop. He broke the droids into pieces to hurl at Jango. Pummeled by metal, Jango went tumbling. Aayla cut down the Bothan—leaving Jango alone to face two Jedi.

They twirled their sabers, taking a stance.

"It's over," said Obi-Wan. "We have the numbers."

Jango's jet pack ignited. He soared from their reach, screaming "die!" through his helmet. Two projectiles launched from his wrist. Obi-Wan and Aayla leapt to each side. Debris exploded from a crater, cutting at their skin. They looked in a daze as he readied another shot.

Jango held out his wrist—before a blinding light wiped him from the sky. Charred segments of armor, and body, pelted the landing pad. The remains of the jet pack harmlessly simmered.

Obi-Wan stared at the carnage before turning to the turret. Padme's expression in the window dampened his pride.

Hearing movement, he found Palmer, Quinn, and Julian approaching with a crate. They stepped through and around scattered parts of the bounty hunters. Julian was aghast at the gruesome tableau.

"Good work," said Obi-Wan.

"You, too," Palmer replied dryly.

Obi-Wan grimaced, leading them to the ramp. "I'll explain on board. We have a lead on Miler. Once R2 installs the regulator, we'll get our crew back."

Julian frowned at Jango's remains. "If they're still in one piece."

* * *

Augustan shoved him in the back. Miler grunted, playing the part of weakling, even as he marveled at the Cathar's arrogance. Without a blindfold, Miler memorized the layout of Neecho's compound. From its empty halls, he knew it wasn't the palace. It must be a black site where Neecho did dirty work.

" _Take him to the surface,"_ Neecho had said. That meant Miler was underground.

"You choose your friends poorly," Augustan sneered. "Solo was marked for death the day he left here."

Miler smiled discreetly. "Aye, maybe so. But you're goin' to die, too—someday. Have ya thought when that'll be?"

"A long time from now. Long after _you're_ gone."

Miler knew all along Neecho's mercy was a ruse. He was marching toward disposal. "Define 'long time.'"

"Fifty years from now, in a comfortable bed. With Twi'lek concubines stroking my body."

Miler's eyes darkened. He thought of Aayla, and his promise. He wouldn't be another anchor hanging from her neck.

In the middle of the corridor was an emergency bulkhead. A small panel cropped out of the wall. At the center was a red switch labeled 'Lockdown.'

Miler stopped short at the panel, throwing a smug look behind him. "Y'know what the worst part of dyin' is?" Augustan tilted his head. "It's unpredictable."

Miler whirled, throwing a headbutt. Augustan growled and kicked him in the chest. It launched Miler backward. On his way to the floor, he flipped the red switch, falling safely beyond the bulkhead. Augustan lunged while a door deployed from the ceiling.

"Ahh!"

The door smashed him to the ground, pinning him on his stomach. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. His armor snapped, followed by his spine. Augustan's eyes bulged from the pressure. His feline tongue wagged from his mouth.

"You choose your friends poorly," Miler said darkly.

Augustan wheezed, and mumbled, and died.

Miler looked down the corridor. Still shackled, he couldn't afford to be seen. But the level appeared empty. He liked his chances.

He ran to a t-junction, taking a left. Suddenly the nondescript metal that encased every corridor was replaced by glass. The ceiling, floor, and walls were like one large window. An endless ocean sprawled out before him. Neon starfish winked through the water.

Miler blinked back his shock. His eyes snapped to an elevator five meters away. A ticket home! A giddy smile engulfed his face.

" _I'm going to die. And I deserve to die. But he's never done anything."_

Miler's smile faltered. He shut his eyes, but it was too bright from the ocean for Miler to see black.

"Brave heart," he said. The job wasn’t done.


	23. The Red Window

The crew assembled in stellar cartography. Flickering in the air, Neecho's black sites seemed impenetrable. He had the artillery to kill everyone on the planet.

Julian levered out of his chair, face warped into a rictus. "Great—three options. How do we know which one's right?"

"We can't know," said Padme. "We have to choose one."

"If we choose wrong, they'll both be dead."

"We are aware of the stakes, Doctor," Obi-Wan said. "None of the three is a better candidate. But distance matters."

"How's that?" asked Julian.

"Site A, the jungle; and Site B, the cavern, are within a hundred-mile radius. If we strike out at one, we might have time to try the other."

"What about the third site?"

"It's on the other side of the planet," Obi-Wan said. "30 minutes' travel. If our friends aren't there, we'll have tipped off Neecho. He'll have plenty of time to do what he will."

Aayla's gut roiled at the disconcerting thought. She tugged on her brain-tail.

Quinn said bluntly, "It's not a choice. It's arithmetic."

Padme glowered, but she knew he was right. "Two bites at the apple is better than one."

Palmer sneered, drawing Obi-Wan's gaze. If there are fulcrums in the Force, Palmer was their negative. He was the outline of a drawing cut out of a piece of paper. "'Arithmetic,'" he jeered. "The answer's in front of you and you're doing math."

"Enlighten me," Obi-Wan said.

"You don't ask a beggar for the meaning of life. But he can teach you how to beg."

Obi-Wan's eyes crinkled. Miler's only chance was an unspoken, unacknowledged malefaction against the Force. "Indeed. Aayla, I withhold my judgment to an appropriate time. Right now, I need you."

Aayla's coupling with Miler betrayed the Jedi Code. Admitting it now would etch it in history, perhaps prompting her expulsion. But she'd rather face that with Miler than be a Jedi alone.

Aayla closed her eyes and entered meditation.

At first, there was nothing: an empty star field. Except the stars were like pictures, possessing no gravity, and thus nothing drew her in. Her energy dissolved in the vapid blackness. "I can't see anything."

Obi-Wan's voice had a tinny echo: "Don't refuse the path."

"I don't understand."

He said, "You created something, with Miler, that the Force did not intend. It tethers you together across space and time."

"Love," said Julian.

Obi-Wan beseeched her: "Concentrate, Aayla. Think of how you feel when you're in his presence. Think of his Current: the core of who he is."

Padme squirmed. Aayla shouldn't have to pour her heart out in a room full of people.

"Think of the last time you saw him," Obi-Wan pressed. "Return to that time, as if it's happening now. Find his Current..."

Aayla's faced twitched. There were paths, and dead ends, and switchbacks leading to more dead ends. But at the edge of everything, she heard the distant thrum of Miler's voice, humming a hymn to her, and she followed blindly. The Force offered other things, light and dark, but she followed the river that connected their Currents, swept up and invigorated by Miler's love.

_She searched his eyes, finding an impenetrable maelstrom. His grin began to widen. "Do you remember what you said to me?" he asked. "About vastness."_

_"'The universe is filled with people.'"_

_Miler pointed emphatically. "Aye! 'Filled with people.' Ya meet new ones each day—and ya get on with your bus'ness. Only I can't now. 'Cause since I met ya, you've been my bus'ness. I can't think of anythin' but you."_

_Aayla's face flushed. Her heart beat faster. Reality collapsed to one Miler-centric point._

_"You were right—about loss," he said. "I lose everyone I love. My parents, my sister, my friends. And I thought I could fix it by lettin' go. But I realize now I gotta hold tighter. And every time I look at you, I wanna crush ya against me. I wanna press your lips to mine."_

_Aayla's brow creased. Her hands trembled at her sides.  
_

_Miler's bright, naive eyes bore into her depths. "I know it's wrong for ya. I know it couldn't be. But Aayla, I love ya. Call it madness—or the will of the Force—I love you."_

_He ran to a t-junction, taking a left. Suddenly the nondescript metal that encased every corridor was replaced by glass. The ceiling, floor, and walls were like one large window. An endless ocean sprawled out before him._

Aayla gasped. Her eyes shot open. "Water! I saw water! He's at the third site!"

The doctor flattened his mouth. "If you're wrong..."

"She's not wrong," said Obi-Wan.

Quinn slithered to his feet with a sphinxlike stare. "Let us rescue the fools."

* * *

" _Don't be foolish," Vos chided his padawan. "You must confront pain. Only then does it lose power."_

_Aayla pulled at her brain-tail. His slippery voice was making her restless. "Pain is not to be kept," she quoted Mace. "We must release it into the Force."_

_Vos said, "Pain released unbidden will find you again. And be stronger for having roamed."_

" _Then we confront it like Jedi. The path is not easy. But if we do not walk it, what good are we to anyone?"_

" _Define 'good.'"_

 _Aayla was aghast as his quip. "It can't be defined. Good just_ is _."_

" _Perhaps you're right," Vos said enigmatically. "Let's try to find it then."_

_Aayla was peering at him through the darkness. It was nighttime on Kashyyyk, and the sky was full of stars, but the canopy of trees was a lid on its beauty. The Shadowlands were silent, dark limbs holding court. Neither spider nor wookiee chanced an appearance._

" _What do you suggest?" she asked._

_Vos leaned on his elbow, utterly serene. "Tell me about your childhood. What do you remember?"_

" _I remember it was short. My childhood ended when the Jedi found me."_

" _I assure you, Aayla: when we met, you were a youngling."_

" _Biologically. In behavior. But in my thoughts, I was a thousand years old."_

_Naked curiosity shone in his eyes. "And what is it made you wise?"_

" _I didn't say 'wise.' I merely said 'old.'"_

" _I would hear your story that I might know the difference."_

_Aayla unfurled her legs, leaning against a tree. Her master's silhouette seemed to loom over her. "I remember my mother. Our house on Ryloth. We lived near the Bright Lands, where the planet faced the sun. The heat was unbearable."_

" _What did she look like?" asked Vos._

" _She was tall for a woman, with light pink skin. She had a very old scar down the side of her face. I think we had the same cheekbones." The Twi'lek shrugged to herself, and said, "That might be make-believe. It was a long time ago."_

_Vos' eyes crinkled with focus. "There was a window," said Aayla. "A red window on the bottom floor. It was tall, and thick, to block the heat.”_

" _You remember the window. Why?"_

" _Because I used to look through it," she said._

" _And what did you see?"_

_Aayla's skin chilled with a wave of emotion. She touched her leather headband, staring at the ground. "Men. The occasional woman, but mostly men. Come to take out their rage, or sorrow, for whatever pittance my mother charged them."_

_Vos said with no inflection, "Your mother was a prostitute."_

_She chortled darkly. The sadness on her face was cleansed by anger. "She was many things. That mightn't have been the worst of them."_

" _What could be worse?" Vos wondered._

_Aayla was silent. His probing gaze had her shifting on her rear. He tipped his head and asked, "What was her fate?"_

_Aayla's anger matured. Brutal debauchery filled her mind's eye. She hated her mother, and she hated herself for hating her, and she hated the men whose hate had started the dominoes. Her brain-tail ached where she clenched it. She looked dangerously at her master._

_Vos split his face in a toothy grin._

" _Now you are strong," he said._

Han didn't care that his knuckles were broken. It was something like sex, satisfaction deferred for enjoyment of the journey. Landon's eye was swollen shut, rimmed in red where blood vessels burst. He prayed to black out but was savagely lucid.

"Good," laughed Neecho. "Good, Han..."

Han found another gear at his mentor's praise. He took Landon's head, slammed it on the table. Then he jammed his thumb into Landon's good eye. His father screamed, legs kicking wildly. Han took Landon's knee and twisted sharply. Landon howled as his kneecap left its socket.

Han grabbed his jaw. "There's no running this time," he growled in his face.

* * *

Every corridor looked the same. But Miler's penchant for detail allowed their distinguishment. Scars in the metal, discolored doors marked where he'd been.

He moved in a stealthy creep. His shackled hands preceded him, clenched into fists. So far there was no enemy. He attributed this to the lack of security cameras, a result of Neecho's paranoia.

Miler heard a faint rustle. He proceeded silently along the wall, peaking around the corner. A steel door opened, flashing a placard that read "Control Center." Two men walked out brandishing rifles. They were stout, human or equivalent, with tactical vests packed with ammo.

Miler pulled his head back. He held his breath. He could hear his blood like a creeping tide.

"What the hell is he doing down here anyway?" one of the men asked.

"What do you care?" the other man scoffed. "He doesn't pay us to be curious."

Miler focused his hearing. He felt their footsteps vibrate on the deck. But the sound was diminishing. Risking a look, he found they were walking the other way.

"You take east. I've got west." They disappeared down separate corridors.

Miler looked at the door. The rusty hinge squealed as it slowly swung shut. He ran as quietly as he could, catching the handle. He snaked through the opening.

A Woman gasped, leaping from her chair. "What are you doing here?!"

Miler presented his hands. "I'm not gonna hurt ya." He looked about, adding with a harder edge: "But you are gonna help me. What is this room?"

The Woman was middle-aged, reeking of death sticks, with a messy ponytail that summed her up nicely. Around her were computers, clunky anachronisms in need of replacement. She wrung her hands and stammered, "I—I—I just keep an eye on things."

"What kind of things?" Miler demanded.

The Woman sputtered, "I—Neecho—if he—when he has orders—I relay them upstairs—or I—I get him information!"

Miler tightened his jaw. Displayed behind her was the photo from his navy ID. Her breath caught at his noticing. She pleaded through a sheen of tears: "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please don't—"

"Shut up!" The guards would soon find Augustan. Then the place would be swarming with Neecho's henchmen. "How do I get out of here?"

"Besides the elevator? There is no other way."

"There's _always_ a way."

"No, there isn't! Not unless you plan to walk out an airlock."

Miler glanced off. _The airlock_. It was crazy to consider. Yet 'crazy' had become his last, best hope. He couldn't do it alone, though. He needed the Dawn Tangent.

His gaze flicked to the radio, before capturing the Woman's. He addressed her in low tones used for skittered animals: "The radio—is this a secure line?"

* * *

The Tangent streaked through the atmosphere. It was slowed at this height but faced less traffic. Obi-Wan pushed the ship to its absolute limit. Bolts and screws unnervingly rattled.

Aayla was behind him. He could feel her tension pour through the Force.

A sudden crackle ripped her from her thoughts. Her head snapped to the radio, blinking green. Obi-Wan stiffened before flipping a switch.

"Dawn Tanget, this is Crata! Can anyone hear me?"

Hope flooded through Aayla. She tried to speak but was too overcome.

Obi-Wan laughed deliriously. "We copy, Miler! Where are you? Are you all right?"

"For the moment," Miler's voice hissed. "We were captured. A man named—"

"Neecho," said Obi-Wan. "R2 filled us in. What's your location?"

"I'm under the bloody ocean!"

Aayla wrestled her voice from the clutches of emotion. "I know exactly where you are. We're already close. Send us coordinates and we'll pick you up."

Even now, his voice brimmed with affection. "I'll do what I can, love. But Neecho has an army. They'll be here any moment."

"Then get out of there!" she demanded.

"It ain't that easy. The bloke has Landon."

"Can you get to him?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Fifty-fifty," said Miler.

Aayla's Jedi instincts were pushed down inside her. "You can't take the chance! You have to get out of there!"

A staticky pause. She let herself hope. But this was foolish, for she knew him too well. "I'm not gonna leave 'im."

"He wouldn't come back for _you_."

"I know," said Miler.

Aayla felt tears rolling down her face. Her quivering lip pulled into her mouth.

"Brave heart, Aayla. I'll see ya soon."

* * *

The shriek of alarms pulled Neecho from his pleasure. He ran to the corridor, bathed in red light. He immediately surmised the source of the danger. "Report!" Neecho growled into his com-link.

An out-of-breath voice crackled back: "Augustan is dead! Culprit at large!"

The god damned fool! Bested by a grunt. Years of investment matured to a corpse. He felt a pang of guilt at cutting Han's revenge short. But with Miler at large, there was no other choice.

"Find him!" He returned to the room, where a blood-bathed Han waited for news. "Your mercy has been betrayed," Neecho lamented.

Han creased his brow. The mask of hate melded permanently with his face. Landon looked up at him with one cracked eye. It pleaded, and apologized, but there were no better angels to which it could appeal.

Han snarled. "Enough, old man."

* * *

Klaxons wailed all around him. Emergency strobe lights painted him red. Harried shouts filled the connecting corridors. Miler knew he couldn't hide. He had to go through them.

Two Rodians appeared brandishing rifles. Miler swung his shackles, cracking one in the face. The other lifted his gun. Miler kicked his leg, dropping him to a knee. Another blow with his shackles knocked the man out. He grabbed his other foe, bashed his head against the wall. The metal dented with an echoing ring.

Miler's heart pounded. He searched them for a sidearm. He wrenched it from the holster after panicked fumbling. More were coming, following the sound.

He pressed the blaster to his shackles. He shut his eyes. The shackles exploded. Debris pelted his face. Miler was a mess of bloody abrasions.

"There he is!"

A row of five—blasters locked. Miler tucked into a roll and came up firing. Three men dropped, smoking corpses. Helmet and skull bits skirred through the air.

Two left, a Gungan and Duros. Miler lowered his shoulder. He speared the Duros to the wall. Then he flipped their positions, blocking the Gungan. He pressed his blaster to the Duros. The bolt ripped through his stomach, exploding his innards.

Miler threw the body. The Gungan avoided it. Miler used the delay to blast him point-blank. The Gungan flew to the wall, dead when he hit. One vacant eye fell in his lap.

Miler sucked air. Bending forward, hands on his knees. He couldn't keep it up, not if they kept coming. The flow of reinforcements had to be stopped.

He searched the bodies, taking a rifle and grenade. The halls were silent as he rushed to the elevator. He arrived at the same time as a car full of goons.

Miler pulled the grenade pin, clenching the trigger. He took comfort in knowing death, if it came, would be quick.

The elevator car bounced and then settled. He heard ten men, maybe fifteen. They were laughing, at ease. Subduing one man must have felt like a safari.

The doors retracted. Halfway open, the grenade rolled through. The leader froze, meeting Miler's stare. "Shit! Everyone—!"

Fire, heat bloomed from the grenade. The car disappeared behind a swirl of orange. Metal shards, choked screams burst through the air.

The concussion wave knocked Miler to the ground. He rolled groaning to his side, pushing to his knees. The lights had blinked out. Jagged beams, charred corpses burned in the darkness.

The elevator car was rendered useless. But the shaft was intact. Reinforcements could still climb down. Had he bought enough time? Or was his effort futile?

Miler's eyes hardened at the memory of a promise.

" _I'll see ya soon."_

* * *

The Tangent was dangerously close to Axxila's energy shield. Too high, too fast, but it wasn't enough. Aayla was gripping Obi-Wan's chair. "Faster! Faster!"

_Aayla rushed through the trench, dodging blasterfire. No one had expected the speed of the attack. The Sith had breached their perimeter—how, no one knew—and punched through the commandos to the Jedi midline. Sonic booms punctuated the flicker of blaster bolts. Whirring lightsabers talked over nature._

_Ahead was base camp, where the artillery was mounted. The guns had been dormant since the Sith began to push. The base was in a cavern, carved from the rock face. Aayla hurried inside. She leapt from the bottom of makeshift stairs to reach the artillery._

_Aayla gasped at the stair-top. Ten commandos lay dead, neatly severed heads scattered about._

_A familiar figure stood at the turbo-blaster. His hand froze on the console, and he turned to face Aayla. "Hello, padawan."_

_Her stomach plummeted. She stared disbelieving at his blood-blotted face. "What—" Aayla's voice cracked. "Master, what are you doing?"_

_A nimbus of dark energy surrounded Vos. He wore it like armor, fortified against his padawan's light. He turned back to the console. "I'm reprogramming the guns to attack the Republic."_

_Aayla trembled at his chilling nonchalance. How could this be? How did this happen? Vos heard the words she thought so carelessly. "It is not sudden," said Vos. "I tried to tell you we must face our pain. The teachings of the Sith have set me free."_

_Vos smiled at the snap-hiss of her saber. "You are not my enemy, Aayla. There's something special about you. I always saw it. Your capacity for passion exceeds even my own."_

" _I will never join you!" she growled._

" _The Jedi cannot change you. You are still the little girl who looked through a window."_

_His accusation of rage provoked it into being. She cocked her saber, eyes tinged yellow. She felt power beyond measure. She thought: just this once. He was too dangerous to live._

_Aayla screamed. With a Force-assisted leap, she swung at her master. His blade switched on, blocking the blow. Blue and green made music in the air. Aayla was skilled, but raw ability was no match for experience._

_He repulsed her attack easily. Each parry and block deepened her anger. Aayla kicked him in the chest. He thudded the rock face but blocked a killing blow. She pressed the advantage, hammering repeatedly without variation._

_Vos exploited the pattern, swiping between shots. Aayla cried out at a hit to her side. She stumbled back, collapsing to the ground. The pain of the blow sent her body into shock._

_Vos held his blade to her throat. Their battle had depleted any lingering affection. "Still that little girl..." He cocked his arm, before catching a blue glow in the corner of his eye._

_Obi-Wan stood wielding a saber. "Did you think I wouldn't realize?" He glanced at Aayla, finding her hurt but not dying. "You wear Darkness like a garment."_

_Vos scowled at his ruined moment. The black heart in his chest ached for a fight. But he knew full well the Jedi outclassed him._

_Vos reached for the ceiling. A telekinetic wave ripped a hole in the cavern. He leapt through the opening and escaped outside._

_Obi-Wan crouched beside Aayla. The girl began sobbing. He checked the gash on her side before allowing compassion. He cupped the back of her head, pulled her to his shoulder._

_Even as she wept, like a child rescued from a dream, he sensed remnants of the rage that had driven her to fight. "It's okay," he forced himself to say._

Landon's face was a wreck. Egg-sized welts, blood-matted hair. His scalp was torn open, laid bare to the skull. Feeble wheezes were all he could manage.

With one last punch, Han ceased his threshing. He took the blaster from Neecho's outstretched hand.

Landon was mumbling, syllables not words. His split lips pursed and he concentrated hard. "Son..."

Han flinched.

The door flew open. Han spun around. Miler drew first, blowing him away. Han's chest armor sizzled where the bolt had burned through.

" **No!"** Neecho dove at Miler. They tumbled to the ground. Miler rolled on top, threw a brutal punch. It landed true on the fleshy head. Dark-green blood sprayed from a gash.

Neecho kneed him in the crotch. Miler dropped. Neecho looked for his blaster. But Miler was moving. The Duros broke for the door, disappeared into the hall.

Miler staggered to his feet and unshackled Landon. The dazed scoundrel stared at his son.

"He's gone," said Miler.

"No! No _no_ _ **no**_!"

Miler met him with savage straightforwardness. "Ya made your choices. Shut your bloody mouth."

Miler slung Landon's arm over his shoulder. He dragged him to the door. Landon squirmed in his grasp: "No! Please!"

They entered the hallway and Han disappeared. Landon's head drooped like a doll. _His only son. The only good thing he'd done in his life._

A Twi'lek ran into the corridor. Miler blew his head off. Landon was dead weight sliding in his grasp. "Bloody walk!" growled Miler.

Landon obliged if barely. Cast in red light, he barely looked human. The screeching alarm urged him along, though.

Miler took the next turn. The airlock waited fifty feet on. He picked up speed, ignoring Landon's cries. _"I'll see ya soon."_ He adjusted Landon, who helped less and less. _"I'll see ya soon."_ Twenty more steps. _"I'll see ya soon."_ Ten more steps.

A Bothan ran up the corridor behind them, firing at their backs. Just barely he missed. Miler dropped Landon, spinning and shooting. The Bothan fell back clutching his throat.

Miler grabbed Landon's collar. Gritting his teeth, he dragged him to the airlock. It was a small room with two pressure-sealed doors: one inner, one outer. Miler could see two pressure suits hanging on a rod.

He pulled Landon inside and dropped him on a bench.

A voice on the intercom shouted over the alarm: "Attention, all units! Proceed to the airlocks! Targets are escaping!" _Neecho_. Miler cursed his failure to kill him.

He handed Landon a pressure suit. It was surprisingly light, but in his weakened state, Landon struggled to hold it. Miler walked to a cabinet marked "Life Support." Inside were two tanks. The first was marked 'Oxygen,' the second 'Ammonia.' Miler growled at their luck.

"What's wrong?" Landon mumbled. Miler pulled him to his feet. "There's only one tank," he said, helping Landon into his suit.

"One tank..."

"We'll make do," said Miler.

" _How_?"

"How d'ya think? We'll take turns."

Landon chuckled hysterically, swayed on his feet. Miler kept him from falling and worked at his confidence. "I'm not gonna die," Miler said firmly. "Neither are you." He grabbed a helmet from the bench, snapping it over Landon. The suit blinked green.

Miler retrieved the oxygen tank. It fit neatly into a slot in the back of Landon's suit. "You're first. I'm next."

Miler turned to grabbed his suit, but Landon's hand stopped him. Landon's visor hid his face behind clean black glass. Yet Miler felt his stare, strangely intense. Landon's voice came modulated from inside his helmet. "I'm sorry, kid."

" _I'll die of exertion," whined Aayla._

_Eisley smiled indulgently. Kind eyes moored her ever-calm face. The wind ruined her side-part, whisking her locks myriad ways. "Hyperbole becomes you."_

_It was fall on Dantooine, and the Burad Mountains were rapidly cooling. It was a seven-mile hike to reach the first summit. Eisley had assigned her to carry both packs. She called it a lesson in perseverance._

_Aayla fussed with her sweaty brain-tail. "How will this prepare me to be a warrior?"_

" _It won't. It prepares you to be a Jedi."_

" _In a war for everything, they're one and the same."_

_Eisley watched two kath hounds fight over scraps. "A Jedi who goes to war may one day return. A warrior without a war has no place in the temple."_

_Aayla abandoned her challenge but conceded nothing. She adjusted their packs, finding_ _the next peak. Eisley sighed at her impatience. "You push too hard," master told padawan. "Quinlan was the same."_

_Aayla glowered at his mention. "Quinlan was a Sith."_

" _It's a razor-thin line between Jedi and Sith."_

" _Worlds burn while you measure it."_

_Eisley watched one kath hound feast on the other. Its denuded jugular glistened in the sunlight. "I fear you see the Force through a red window on Ryloth." She braced against the anger rolling off her pupil. "You lived too long with your mother. Attachment leads to the Dark Side."_

_Aayla stared at her master, impregnably sure. "I would know love's foibles to bask in its joy."_

Aayla paced in the cockpit. The ship hovered on the ocean, as it had for many minutes. These were the coordinates—double and triple-checked.

"Give it time," Padme said pityingly.

"They'll be here," added Obi-Wan.

Every coddling remark kindled Aayla's anger. She felt out of control, swathed in emotion unbridled and vast. She could almost hear Eisley judging her tumult.

"Something's wrong," said Julian. "They're taking too long."

Aayla's voice wavered. "He's right. We have to—"

Obi-Wan touched her arm. "They'll be here," he repeated.

"You don't know that! What if—"

R2's shriek silenced the cockpit. They looked out the window, finding a lone figure floating in the ocean. There was no movement, no sound. It was at the waves' mercy. Its identity was hidden behind a large pressure suit.

Aayla's brows mashed together. Her breath caught in her throat.

"There's only one," said Julian.

Obi-Wan looked at R2. "Take us in low. I'm going to get him."

* * *

He was soaked to the bone, tunic like an anchor. His muscles rippled as he heaved his crewmate onto the ramp. Julian took over, dragging the body to the deck.

Obi-Wan gulped a breath. He felt Padme grasp him. She pulled him to the ramp. He climbed to his feet and staggered inside.

The body didn't move inside its suit. Frost hid its face inside the helmet.

Obi-Wan trembled, water pooling at his boots. His chattering teeth grinded together. He caught Aayla's stare, filled with potentials at opposite extremes. She was a rocket lifting off; soon, relief; or soon, implosion.

Julian knelt down. He braced his hands on each side of the helmet. Steeling himself, he unveiled their crewmate.

Obi-Wan looked down at a beaten Landon. Nose dislodged, lacerations all over, both eyes black with one swollen shut. He was conscious if barely.

"Landon," said Obi-Wan, "where is Miler?"

Landon wheezed, staring at nothing. With the last of his strength, he shook his head.

Julian flinched, forcing back tears. Aayla's hand flew to her mouth. Her head dropped forward, a puppet cut from its strings. She stared wide-eyed at the deck beneath her.

Padme turned, swiping at her face. It didn't make sense. He'd survived Darth Vader, the betrayal of his commander. He'd escaped the cruel end that Grievous gave Sarna. Why? For what?

Drawing on the Force, for he lacked strength alone, Obi-Wan projected surety and calm. "Doctor," he said gently.

Julian lifted his head. "Yes. Quite right." He told Padme: “Give me a hand, ma'am."

At the perimeter of the room, Aayla stood in shadow. Her head was bowed, lekku clutched in a brutal grip. Her Force signature, which Obi-Wan knew as well as his own, was reduced to a tapestry of rage and denial. He tried to shut it out, for it nearly overwhelmed him.

He'd never seen _anyone_ so disconsolate. He'd watched friends die, attended countless funerals. But this was something else. This wasn't pain. It was a wound in the Force.

He took a step toward her. Her brain-tail was dark from lack of blood flow. He pried her hand free. "Aayla—" he began, before his throat evacuated. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Aayla's eyes squeezed shut. His gentle voice broke her denial. Suddenly it came: Miler was dead. Aayla couldn't breathe. Miler was dead. Wild moans ripped from her throat. Miler was dead. She clutched Obi-Wan's tunic, and he took her in his arms.

" _ **He promised**_..." sobbed Aayla.

Obi-Wan felt a tear jewel on his eyelid. "I'm so sorry..."

" _What are you sorry for?" Miler asked._

" _Everything," said Landon._

_Whatever feeling was in his voice, the radio static washed it away._

_Shouts rose in the distance, signaling danger. Landon gestured outside: "See if there's a blast door. We need to buy time."_

_Miler agreed. He dashed to the corridor. But there was no sign of a blast door. Neecho's mob rapidly approached._

_Miler's head snapped at the sound of metal joints. The airlock door was closed and sealed. "Landon!" He ran to the door, pounding on the window. "Landon, what are you doing?! Open the bloody door!"_

_Miler's heart blasted. Fear swelled in his eyes like leveed water._

" _There he is!" a voice shouted.  
_

" _Landon! You're killing me! Open the door! Open the bloody door!"_

" _I'm sorry," choked Landon._

" _Don't do this!" cried Miler._

" _There's only one tank. We'll never make it together."_

" _We can make it! I promise! We'll bloody make it, mate!"_

" _I can't take the chance."_

" _You son of a bitch! I will haunt you forever! Every moment, ya bloody—"_

_Blood sprayed on the window, misted in smoke. Miler's body dropped and vanished. Landon cried behind his helmet, watching Neecho's men arrive._

_He staggered to the outer door. He punched the control. In seconds, the outer door opened and the room filled with water. Landon's suit protected him, but the temperature plummeted. The scoundrel's tears froze into crystal.  
_

_Promise kept._

_Promise broken._

_Landon moved forward._


	24. Before He Expires

I think I understand why non-sentients are lionized. Non-thinking beings are bred to be selfless. Their only care is that their offspring persist. People claim to be the same. We assert singular devotion to our children and lover. But could it really be so?

I wonder if selflessness is real or a shroud for true intentions. If someone needs a kidney, and I give him my own, have I valued his life over my physical comfort? Or have I valued the notion that I'm a very good person? Perhaps a good deed is the height of my selfishness.

But maybe it's not.

Stellar cartography was silent. Each crewman held a piece of one shared reverence. Aayla and Padme stared into oblivion. R2 had gone still after one glum beep. Even Palmer and Quinn were suitably morose.

Obi-Wan stood at the view port, peering at hyperspace. A shimmering tunnel encircled the Dawn Tangent, calm at its center while it shredded a cone of space.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen many things in his life. And his memory was pristine.

He'd seen oceans boil on a grainy hologram. He'd watched planets destroyed from the safety of orbit. He'd stood in a dead city, an ashy tableau locked in time by volcanoes. He could picture the families, plaster statues of once-vibrant life. But these sights did not compare to the things he had done.

He'd crossed a battlefield, corpses stacked into pillars, as he cut down Sith like plague-ridden cattle. He'd ordered strangers to their deaths, to allow slightly more strangers a chance to escape. He could justify all of it, until he lay in the dark begging for sleep.

But in spite of everything, he never gave up on making sense of the galaxy. Obi-Wan realized long ago that everything that happens holds beauty and dread. The most perfect day must always end. The most crushing tragedy provokes others' kindness. And so it fell to him now.

"When I was a youngling," he recalled, "Master Yoda told me to let the dead go. He said we shouldn't mourn them; they're at peace in the Force." Obi-Wan smoothed down his beard. Burning pyres of Jedi armor filled his mind's eye. "I think he missed the point. It's not the peace of the dead that all of us seek. It's our own."

He turned from the view port. Aayla remained catatonically absent. He continued determinedly: "I won't tell you to deny your grief. What could be less human? But it can't interfere with what we have to do. Because if we fail, what he did doesn't matter."

"Miler saved us," Padme said. "The best thing we can do is follow his example."

Aayla finally looked up, ashen and galled. "What is his example? Getting himself killed for a piece of garbage?"

Obi-Wan intervened, "Aayla—"

"I don't blame Landon. He shouldn't even be here. This only happened because _you_ brought him with us."

Obi-Wan squinted. "If you want to blame me, that's your prerogative."

"We can't turn on each other," Padme argued. "That won't fix anything."

"It'll make me feel better," Aayla said coldly.

Palmer shook his head from his perch across the room. "I'm starting to see why the Sith are winning. They don't stop to cry when they get a bloody nose."

Aayla blazed, launching from her chair. Obi-Wan grabbed her in a bear hug. She squirmed in his arms. He could barely hold her.

"Aayla!" growled Obi-Wan.

She strained some time before finally stopping. He slowly released her, trying to block her emotions where his mind met the Force. But they were simply too strong. Suddenly he felt very light-headed.

"We're all exhausted," he said after a silence. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

His eyes slipped closed. He leaned on the wall, letting it hold him. The room cleared out until he and Padme remained. He felt her small fingers resting on his arm.

* * *

Landon's vitals were stable. He was resting comfortably. His injuries were curable, with the exception of his hand. According to Landon's file, it was blasted on Sarna. It would've healed in time, except he didn't take care of it. The hand was infected even before Axxila. Julian had no choice but to amputate. A cybernetic facsimile was now in its place.

Julian perched on his desk. Without work to distract him, he felt the first tendrils of a very vast pain. Only an imbecile would leave a post on Coruscant. How foolish he'd been to want this adventure. More foolish, still, to get attached to his patients.

The doors whirred open and R2 entered. The computer converted the droid’s beeps into words. 

"Will he return to parameters?" R2 asked.

"Physically, yes."

R2 swiveled his dome, staring intently at Landon. "I can monitor his condition. You must be very tired."

"Were you programmed with compassion?" Julian asked half-jokingly.

The droid's dome hinged back. After a long pause, he answered, "I don't know."

Julian smiled. "Let me know if something changes."

* * *

"She didn't mean that," said Padme.

He pulled free of her hand. She tried not to look hurt. "I don't care if she blames me," Obi-Wan said. "But she's walking a path Jedi don't come back from."

"I've never seen a Jedi that angry," she conceded.

Obi-Wan eased into a chair, suddenly feeling very old. He didn't rebound like he used to, in body or mind. He needed to be alone.

Padme refused him this distance. She sat down on the floor next to his chair. Her voice was gentle but demanding: "Talk to me, Obi-Wan."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Start with how you're feeling."

He lifted his head. "If you haven't noticed, things are going very poorly."

"We knew it wouldn't be easy," Padme said patiently.

"No, not easy. But it mightn't be as hard if they sent someone else."

"Like who?"

"Master Windu. Or Yoda. Perhaps Ki-Adi-Mundi. Kit Fisto or Cin Drallig."

"Are you going to name the entire Jedi Order?" Padme asked dryly.

He smiled grimly, rubbing his eyes. Padme giggled to let him know it was okay. He'd always felt a little guilty over his fondness for gallows humor.

Obi-Wan took a breath, shoulders relaxing. Padme startled when he reached for her hand. He turned it over, pressing her palm. His skin was still cold from his jaunt in the ocean.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?"

"You had to kill today, Padme."

She flinched back, squeezing his hand. An exploding Jango Fett flashed through her mind. It had been so easy. A quick squeeze of the trigger and he scattered in parts.

"I'm sorry I put you in that position," he said.

Padme forced a stoic expression. "I signed up for this, Obi-Wan."

He looked down at their hands, tracing her palm with his thumb. Her impossibly soft skin reminded him she shouldn't be here. His was so rough he thought it must hurt her.

"None of us signed up for it," Obi-Wan mused. "The war has lasted most of my life. They took me from my parents, trained me to fight. All the while, I read books about our history as peacemakers. Sometimes I wonder if it was all just fables."

Padme met his eyes with doe-like innocence. He felt her Current, beginning in the Force, travel up his arm and spread through his body. He pictured himself kissing her. He pictured a prairie, like the one he was born on, with two children and a dog playing in the grass. Neither Jedi nor Sith disrupted his vision.

"I believe in happy endings," Padme said quietly.

* * *

Julian poured another drink. The Tangent's bar was small but urbane. One wall was clear glass, beyond it a cosmic panorama reinforcing the futility of a single human life. Julian threw back a shot.

His hand froze on the bottle. Quinn's reflection appeared in the window. "Do you need something?" Julian asked.

Quinn said nothing but took the stool next to him. Julian filled two glasses. He waited for Quinn to speak until he couldn't bear silence. "It's been a long day," Julian said lamely.

"Every day is the same length."

"It's a figure of speech."

Julian played with his glass. Jawa whiskey splashed on the counter. Quinn was uncharacteristically selective with his words. "It is no simple thing," the reptilian said. "Your reaction is understandable."

"Are you trying to be nice?" Julian ignored Quinn's glare as he took another shot. He looked at hyperspace, remembering all the hours he'd done this with Miler. They knew more about each other than they did their own families.

Quinn said, "I studied his record. He served with valor."

Julian blinked rapidly. He threw back another whiskey, choking it down. "Perhaps too much," his voice trembled.

Julian reached for the bottle. But his hand was shaking. Why? He made a fist. Why? He leapt from his stool. Why? The stool hit the ground with a satisfying bang. Why? Why why why why why? Julian grabbed the bottle. He threw it across the room. It shattered on the wall. Glass shards scattered in the air.

Julian looked at his arms, pricked and bloody. The human vessel: hopelessly fragile. We think we're in control. The ultimate lie.

He braced against the bar, broken and drained.

Quinn’s scaled countenance hinted at feeling. He looked down at his glass, still half-full, and pushed it toward Julian.

The scraping sound made the doctor look up. Quinn's inscrutable eyes locked with his. "You may drink it or throw it. I recommend the former."

Julian chortled on delay. He really wasn't sure which sounded better. He looked out the window. Hyperspace swirled, majestic and vast, and though it be illusion, every fiber of his being said it went on forever, now and then, future and past, one long cord that couldn't be severed.

But it didn't.

It _didn't._

* * *

Obi-Wan entered the infirmary, finding R2 in place of the doctor. "Hello there."

"Bweeeeep."

The Jedi walked to the bed, checking on Landon. It was an ugly picture. Landon's nose had been set, but it was swollen to double-size. Both eyes were black. Still, it could've been worse. He was out of the tank.

Landon's face wasn't peaceful. Bacta shone in the crevices of his ravaged visage.

Obi-Wan drew out a breath. What happened down there? Why didn't Miler make it? He probably would have, if he hadn't gone back for Landon. But that was never an option in Miler's mind. Obi-Wan understood that cloying devotion, subjugating self to his sense of what's right. But things are only right from a certain point of view. Perhaps Miler's choice was merely indulgence.

"I have a question," R2 said.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Don't you always?"

"Why did Knight Secura react so severely?"

"Their connection was strong. Like nothing I've seen," Obi-Wan said. "In Twi'lek culture, it's said every soul has a mate. An unbreakable bond that's beyond our worlds. It transcends everything, including the Force."

"Do I have a soul?"

Obi-Wan blinked. The droid's red pupil had shrunken to a dot. R2 wasn't still, but he wasn't quite moving, like a leaf been disrupted by wind long gone.

Perhaps he needed maintenance. The Jedi didn’t ask. He was far too tired, and he had another stop.

"Goodnight, R2."

" _That's the the thing about space. You never know if it's night or day."_

" _I could have R2 turn the lights down," Obi-Wan said._

_Miler grinned. He sipped some whiskey before passing it to Julian. "Let 'im be. Barely a day since he woke from the dead."_

" _He and I both," Obi-Wan grunted._

_Julian took a swig and offered the bottle. He set it down when the Jedi declined. "They sent me your records. You are exceedingly resilient."_

" _How many times have y'been shot?" Miler asked._

" _Enough not to like it," Obi-Wan said._

_Julian smiled wistfully. "I don't envy your medicals. But you've seen more in a lifetime than I'd see in two. I can't imagine the places you've walked."_

" _We're at war, Doctor. Every planet is a faded memory."_

_Miler heard the sadness in his voice. He couldn't fathom a general's life. Ordering men to their death; destroying ships full of people; subverting Jedi non-aggression to serve the greater good. How could he possibly stay centered in the Force?_

_Miler weighed his query, before finally asking: "Have y'ever come close to turnin' to the Dark Side?"_

_Obi-Wan said, "I fall in my dreams."_

_“What makes you fall?"_

_Obi-Wan’s brows pulled tight. His forehead crinkled in an illusion of age. He looked like a dying man, surrounded by victims of his lack of consideration, wiping at a slate before he expires._

_“Love," said Obi-Wan._

The door was unlocked, allowing Obi-Wan entry. He found Aayla and Padme sitting on a bed.

He cautiously sat, placing Aayla between him and Padme. As if Aayla were the sun, he watched her in fleeting glances of nuclear light.

No one would ever say this, but I think it's possible the most compassionate people are suited to rage. Rage begins as anger, and anger is righteous. Somewhere along the path is the point of no return.

The tears on Aayla's face belied fury in her eyes. Obi-Wan felt it in his chest, like the vibration of music. It was all too familiar. He'd been through this before. He couldn't allow himself to fail another Jedi.

"You need to meditate," Obi-Wan said.

Aayla scowled. Her cheeks hollowed bitterly, throwing her tears on a new course. "No, I don't."

Obi-Wan looked down. He stared unseeing into the tumult of the Force.

"That's what Anakin said."


	25. Brothers, It is Ours

A bright yellow flash—the rear door of a hyperspace tunnel—preceded a warship. Its unexpected appearance threw the bridge into chaos.

Commander Baxter jumped from his chair. "What the hell?!" His head snapped to the helmsman. "Report on that ship!"

"Registry matches the Invisible Hand, sir! It's General Grievous!"

The weapons officer added, "Confirmed! Weapons dormant. Ship is friendly."

Baxter narrowed his eyes. He walked to the window, heart still racing. "Get me Grievous on the view screen!"

* * *

Baxter's grimace filled the display. Behind him, the crew moved about with the remnants of shock. "General Grievous," said Baxter, "we were not expecting you."

Grievous said, "I have news for Lord Sidious. Prepare your shuttle bay; I'm coming aboard."

Baxter's lip curled tentatively. "Understood, General."

The screen went black. Grievous turned to Vader, who was flanked by his horsemen. "We are only one ship. The emperor's fleet is all around us."

Vader's voice was fat with vanity. "It will be _our_ fleet shortly."

Grievous' sunken eyes showed none of his inner thoughts. He owed Sidious his life, if that's what one would call it. But allegiance was a notion reserved for organics. He was not one anymore. His brain contained the details of experiences but none of the context.

The droid-man addressed his second-in-command: "Commander Argyle, do not engage the fleet. Even if they open fire."

Argyle frowned. "General?"

"We're taking control of the empire. These ships are assets."

Argyle nodded crisply. Manifest panic reddened his cheeks. But Grievous knew he would play his part.

The droid-man asked Vader, "What are your orders?"

* * *

The Young General delivered his report, pointing out victories on a map of the Core. Sidious sat opposite, Dooku adjacent.

The General's voice echoed through the gunmetal chamber. "We've created a bottleneck. In another month, we'll be prepared to attack Coruscant. If they choose to make a stand, it will be their grave. I estimate—"

Baxter's voice crackled through a comlink: "Lord Sidious, forgive the interruption..."

The emperor sat forward, bony hands steepled on his knees. "You may speak," he commanded.

"The Invisible Hand has joined the fleet. General Grievous is coming aboard. He wishes to speak with you."

 _Grievous_. He was ordered to secure Halm. He knew the consequences of disobeyed orders. There was only one reason he would come.

But Grievous would never make a play on his own. Sidious smiled with his eyes. It was the way of the Sith. He could hardly fault Vader for learning his lessons. But soon he'd discover the power Sidious withheld. A worthy teacher sets limits to prevent his usurping.

Dooku held his back straight. The time had come for the count's last use. "Meet Grievous in the shuttle bay," Sidious ordered. "I will join you shortly."

He felt the count's eyes like a burning brand on his skin. He wondered if Dooku knew why a Sith name was never granted him: simple tools need no honorific.

Dooku stood up, never breaking his gaze. After a pregnant pause, he calmly walked out.

"Prepare my escape vessel," Sidious said.

The Young General knit his brows but agreed to the task.

When Sidious was alone, the dark lord rose up and discarded his cloak. He walked to his throne, retrieving his saber. Soon one more chapter would be notched on the hilt.

"A story ends," Sidious whispered.

* * *

Dooku was not a fool. His callous master had marked him for death. Dooku intended not to oblige him.

The count made a stop at the lower-deck dojo. Ten apprentices were sparring with staffs. Their trainer looked familiar: a grizzled Massassi with a necklace of teeth.

"Pardon my interruption," Dooku said mildly. "I require your services—Lord..."

"Grymar," came the answer. Fleshy tendrils dangled from his cheekbones. A stoic mouth jutted over his chin. Dooku admired the wide set of Grymar's shoulders. "What are your orders, Count?"

"Follow me now. Ask no questions."

Grymar turned his head slightly. One glance incited his students. Staffs were discarded, replaced by lightsabers. With shaky poise, they formed a column by Grymar.

"Do not fail me," Dooku warned.

* * *

The shuttle bay crew formed rows behind Baxter. It was always unnerving when top brass came aboard. But usually shutting up was enough to get through it.

Grievous descended the ramp of his shuttle. His servos squealed as he coughed into a fist. "Commander Baxter," he snarled. "I must speak with Lord Sidious."

Baxter tugged on his collar, which suddenly seemed tight. "I'm sorry, sir. But I have direct orders to wait for Count Dooku."

"You orders are countermanded."

Baxter swallowed. "I apologize, General. But Lord Sidious was very clear. When Count—" His hands flew to his neck. He wheezed and hacked. An invisible force was crushing his windpipe.

Baxter whirled to his men. His eyes bulged. His trachea snapped. He spit up blood and fell dead on his stomach.

The crew was pallid and frozen, abject terror shining in their eyes.

Vader emerged out of blackness. He and three others exited the shuttle. The light fell hard on their jaundiced faces.

Malice broke off from the group. Whereas Vader invoked fear through human likeness, Malice was the demon children invent. His pinkish-red face was darker from burns. He had only one horn, the other ruined by Miler. The serrated stump was somehow scarier.

He approached a worker. The woman stared straight ahead. Her arms rippled with the effort of stillness. Malice drank in her fear, looked back at Vader.

"They are not needed," Vader said.

Malice drew his lightsaber. The woman's eyes filled with tears.

* * *

Klaxons blared in the corridor. The XO's voice shouted from the speaker: "Attention, all hands! Intruder alert! The Invisible Hand is hostile! All personnel to be shot on sight! General Grievous is a traitor! Lord Vader is a traitor!"

Dooku's chest tightened. He'd always known Vader's ambition. The willful blindness of Sidious could cost them everything.

Grymar had no reaction, but his students were shaken. Dooku pinned them with a look: "It is your best day or your last. You will choose which one."

The shuttle bay was straight ahead. There was total silence except for alarms. Dooku and his men ignited their sabers.

In moments, the shuttle bay doors retracted to the wall. A thick swirl of smoke drifted in the air. Dooku recognized the residue of a Sith lightning attack.

Five red blades shone in the smoke. The air began to clear, putting Vader in focus. He gave Grievous an order: "Secure the bridge. We will handle this matter."

Dooku clenched his jaw seeing Malice, Wrath, and Demic. He knew Vader would have allies, but not of this stature.

"Four for the price of one," Dooku said.

_Take pleasure in vengeance. Power, without joy, is as empty as servitude. Let the Wise One feel your passion for his gift._

"You have no idea what you're dealing with," Vader said. "The Dark Side is a child's game. I possess power you cannot imagine."

Dooku forced a dark smile. "Pride comes before the fall."

Blue lightning gathered on Vader's fingers. Before the count could react, Vader unleashed. It hit Dooku full-force, sending him flying to the wall. He collapsed to the floor, convulsing in pain.

Vader fired at Grymar, who caught it with his saber. The Massassi charged. Vader deflected, ducking past him. He rushed at the students. The first parried clumsily, losing an arm. The next was cut in two pieces shoulder to hip.

Grymar fought Demic, driving him back. He held off Malice with a boot to the chest. Wrath swung at his head, forcing him to duck. Grymar used the position to try to slash Demic's leg. Demic blocked, pinning his blade. It left the Massassi completely defenseless. Wrath severed one arm, Malice the other. Grymar screamed. He staggered to his feet, threw his body at Demic. Wrath cut off his head with a horizontal slash.

Dooku looked up, finding everyone dead. Streaks of blood covered the walls.

Vader nudged a severed head, rolling it to Dooku. The count climbed from the floor, calling his saber.

Vader scoffed, "Isn't this part where you suggest we ally?"

"If it were anyone but you." Dooku cocked his saber. He looked past Vader, as the others approached. "You caught me by surprise. Sidious will be ready."

"Ready to die," Vader growled. He twirled in the air, launching an attack. Dooku blocked, shoving him away. He tried to behead him but instead hit the wall. A shower of sparks flashed in the air.

Dooku missed with a kick. Vader clocked him with his hilt. Dooku reeled and parried a lunge. He spun away from Vader—but Wrath's blade impaled him. It jammed through his sternum, hilt-against-chest.

Dooku gasped. His eyes were huge. He staggered to the wall, trying to pull the blade out. But soon enough, he let his hands fall. Any effort at surviving was futile.

Dooku's gaze locked with Vader's. Gentle pressure forced him to his knees.

This was always the ending. No Sith in history died of old age.

"Va—va—" It was a hellish gasp. He was choking on blood. There was nothing left for Dooku to say.

_Every life form is a concentration of energy. Every man you destroy can be stripped of his marrow. Absorb the strong-willed. Take their power for your own. There are far greater battles, requiring far more strength._

Vader took a breath. Everything he'd been through, the degradation and pain, was precious prologue. Now his story could properly begin.

Vader buried his blade in Dooku's skull. The count ceased moving. A moment—silence—then suddenly chaos.

Dooku's body rapidly heated. Blackish smoke squeezed through his pores. His skin became molten, melting from his bones. It dripped to the floor, unveiling his skeleton. The whites of his eyes burst into flames.

A strange red mist emerged from the fire. It zipped in four streams toward each of the Sith.

Vader screamed, back arching, as it rushed into his mouth. Wrath, Demic, and Malice, too. Dooku's essence filled the four Sith. Then reality vanished. No dark or light. Creation and ending. The Wise One's touch. The dark intelligence. Every dimension there for their pleasure.

The fire burnt out. Dooku's skeleton dropped to its side. There was no sign of flesh. No organs remained. He who once haunted Vader was a pile of bones.

A blissful grin crossed Vader's face. For the first time in his life, he was truly happy. "Brothers, it is ours."

* * *

Imperial marines streaked through the corridor. The riflemen led, followed by grenadiers. They took positions outside the emperor's hanger.

"Blanket fire," The Leader said. "Sith can deflect blasters, but they can't cover everything."

The men grunted assent. Sixty eyes locked on the elevator. The Leader reached into his armor, feeling the lightsaber component he'd made into a necklace. When all this was over, he'd replace it with Vader's.

The elevator opened. Vader walked out. He flicked his wrist; The Leader blew his own head off. Malice mind-locked a grenadier. The marine pulled a pin and then didn't move. Shrapnel exploded, throwing grist on the walls.

The survivors scattered. A few brave souls rushed at the Sith. Wrath met them on the way. He swung his saber in an arc, slicing two chests. He cut off a head, ripped out a heart. A man with a shotgun fired at Demic. Demic flattened his blade, reflecting the blast. The shooter's stomach exploded in chunks.

The second-in-command shouted from cover: "Fall back! Fall back!" He laid down suppression fire to give his men time. The Sith ignored it, continuing to advance.

Three marines sprinted—exposing their backs. Malice used Sith lightning, taking down two. The third man tripped on their twitching bodies. His head smashed the floor, knocking him dead. Blood pooled in a circle around his cracked skull.

A small group escaped, disappearing around a corner. The second-in-command was left all alone. He thought of his wife, hoped she'd be proud.

He sprang out of cover. Demic swung low; Wrath went high. The second-in-command dove between blades. He landed in a crouch by a pile of corpses. He grabbed a grenade, pulling the pin. His dignified stare fixed on Vader. "For the Empire!"

Metal, fire blasted through the air. Vader thrust out his palm, creating a telekinetic shield. The grenade's full force swallowed the marine. His body scattered in pieces all through the corridor. Half of his head lay at their feet.

Vader didn't stop to admire his work. He ran to the hanger, finding no one there. The emperor's escape vessel stood unused. Why hadn't Sidious come for it? Perhaps he realized that, while the hanger was meant to be secret, Vader discovered it months ago. If that were true, Sidious might have feared that Vader would intercept him. He could be planning a different escape.

Or maybe the answer was simpler. Maybe Sidious didn't intend to leave it all. Perhaps he was so arrogant, he thought he could defeat Vader. If so, he gravely miscalculated.

"Where is he?" Wrath demanded.

Demic said, "He knows he can't escape. He's prepared to fight us."

"He's prepared to fight _me_ ," Vader corrected, before tapping his comlink: "General Grievous, report your status."

A voice crackled back: "The bridge is secure. The Invisible Hand was destroyed. Several vessels are attempting to dock."

"Hold them off as long as you can. I have to find Sidious." He heard Grievous shout at one of the crew, but he couldn't make it out.

After a pause, the droid-man said: "Deck 15: one life sign registered."

"You have served me well, Grievous. I will remember it," Vader said.

* * *

The engineering decks were always most busy. They held the hyperdrive, weapons, and computer mainframe. But there was only silence when Vader arrived.

The corridor from the elevator was dimly lit. Someone had cut the main lights on the deck.

Vader was fatigued, but it didn't touch his mind. Every sense was highly attuned. He smelled Sith lightning, along with corpses. The hyperdrive buzzed through the door just ahead.

He drew his saber, flashing it on. "Do not be rash," he reminded them. "Even gods can be defeated."

Vader found the door was sealed to the hyperdrive chamber. He carved a human-sized circle and kicked through the cut-out.

The hyperdrive chamber was littered with corpses. They weren't hard to diagnose: lightsaber wounds, execution by lightning. Sidious had slaughtered his whole engineering crew.

Vader's eyes roamed. The hyperdrive core—four blue cylinders connected to a box—was at the center of the chamber. Everything else was built out around it. Three gold shafts, staggered vertically, connected the core to conduits in the wall. Each shaft had a platform, with railing for safety. Multiple ladders made them accessible. At the bottom level, computer consoles circled the core.

A dark figure stood on the topmost platform.

Vader shouted, "Hiding in the shadows?"

"Where else does one hide?" Sidious replied.

His apprentice could hear the strain in his voice. Sidious prepared for Vader—not four opponents. "Do you know what brings me pleasure?" Vader reveled. "You don't even realize what all this is about. You thought you had sent me to do your bidding. But in reality, you gave me the key to immortality."

Sidious fired back, "Your delusions are pathetic. I will relish their disabusal."

"You're one man against four," Vader taunted. "Surely you realize we are your doom."

Sidious switched on his saber. "Your arrogance _blinds_ you!" He let out a cry, flipping three stories to land on the floor.

Wrath charged, unleashing a series of powerful blows. Sidious blocked, lunging for his middle. Wrath parried; they both missed swings. Demic came from the flank, trying an overhead strike. Sidious ducked; the blade sliced through a ladder.

Sidious leapt from the fray, clashing sabers with Vader. He pressed the advantage until Malice intervened. Sidious caught Malice's blade, driving it to the deck. He had to release to block Vader's swing. Sidious flipped through the air, dodging and striking. Vader growled at a blow to his arm.

Wrath attacked, and Sidious leapt. He used the hyperdrive core to change his direction. He landed behind everyone. Before they could react, Sidious unleashed a torrent of lightning. It crawled over Wrath, flashing his skeleton, as a spike of agony shot through his body.

Vader fired his own lightning. Sidious caught it with his saber but grimaced with effort. Conceding the attack, he leapt from the floor to the bottom-most platform. Demic followed. The two exchanged strikes, finding no opening.

Sidious jumped to the next platform, where Malice was waiting. Their sabers bounced off in a shower of sparks. Sidious threw a kick. It sent Malice flying back-first to the core. The cylinders flickered in time with the impact. Malice plummeted to the floor with a thud.

Sidious jumped as Demic's blade stabbed through the platform. The distraction gave Vader the opening he needed. He used the Force to rip out one of the shafts that connected to the core. He hurled it at the emperor, forcing him to jump. It smashed through the wall, a massive hole forming. Paristeel poured like hail through the chamber.

Sidious plunged toward the floor. Wrath leapt at the same time. They met in the middle, exchanging one blow.

Sidious landed in a crouch. His eyes were a mausoleum entombing decades of hate. "You cannot defeat me! I will destroy you all!"

"You will try," said Vader.

Sidious growled, shooting lightning at Vader. His pupil fired back. Their chains met in the middle—a battle of wills. The emperor pushed harder, but Vader matched him.

From the platform above, Demic launched his own attack. He fired bolt after bolt at the emperor's back. Sidious screamed, dropping to his knees. Blue electricity spiraled around him.

Soon Malice and Wrath added their lightning. The assault of four Sith was simply too much. Sidious fell to his side, completely enveloped. The flesh of his face was beginning to cook. He could hear it sizzle, a brutal chorus.

Vader's laughter broke through his wall of agony. Not once in his life had Sidious heard it. One particle of anger persisted in the emperor. Uncanny determination pressed it to service.

Sidious turned his head. He could vaguely make out the hyperdrive core. All the current in his body gathered on his fingers. He gritted his teeth, swallowed a scream, and redirected their lightning into the core.

The hyperdrive whined. Circuitry rattled. The cylinders' casing shook then shattered. The drive's inner cables unsnapped from the core. They swung in the air, a monster's tentacles, spitting radioactive gas all through the chamber. The temperature in the core was rapidly spiking.

Vader's eyes widened. "Get out!"

Demic leapt to the platform, then Wrath and Malice. They escaped through the cavity Vader made in the wall.

Vader picked up Sidious. He threw him on his back. He vaulted to the exit as the drive core exploded. A column of flames propelled them through the wall. Sidious tumbled from his shoulders, rolling on a grate.

Vader snapped to attention. They were on a catwalk overlooking the cannons. A chain reaction would destroy the whole ship.

He smashed his comlink: "Grievous! Activate force fields, deck 15!"

The flames on the catwalk vanished in seconds. A faint crackle of static confirmed the force field. They were safe for the moment, but the field wouldn't hold.

"We need to evacuate," Vader said into his comlink.

"The fleet is still hostile," Grievous reminded him.

Vader looked down at Sidious. He signaled Demic to carry him. "It won't be for long."

* * *

Grievous was relieved at the Horsemen's arrival. His four arms were deployed, grasping sabers. Six crewmen lay dead on the bridge. Those who remained followed orders under threat.

Demic dumped Sidious over a console. The surviving crew recoiled in horror.

Little remained of the emperor's face. His jaw's inner workings were exposed to the air. You could follow the bone from temple to mouth. Skin was hanging like meat sliced to translucence.

Grievous reported, "Three attack ships have docked. They intend to kill us."

Vader strode calmly to the center of the bridge. "Open a channel to the fleet."

The crew reluctantly complied. Two-hundred commanders appeared on the screen, each one reduced to a very small box.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Vader said dangerously. "I'm pleased to announce that the emperor has been deposed. _**I**_ am now in control of the Empire." He nodded at Grievous. The droid-man retrieved Sidious, depositing him in the captain's chair.

The muted commanders were shocked and appalled. Their silent shouts made Vader smile. He stood behind Sidious. One hand drew a saber; the other held the ruins of the emperor's forehead. "This used to be the most powerful man in the galaxy. Yet here he is—at my mercy." He put his ear to his master's mouth, reveling in the gasps that precede expiration. "If I can do this to him, try to imagine what could be in store for you."

Vader looked at the screen. The commanders were frozen. "Follow me, and you will be rewarded," Vader promised. "Defy me—and I will kill what you love with excruciating patience."

He signaled the Horsemen to join him at the center of the bridge. "Let us show you a power _greater_ than the Dark Side."

Vader ignited his blade and beheaded Sidious. A red oval glowed on the jagged neckline.

For a moment—silence. And then it began.

Both parts of the corpse rapidly heated. The little skin that remained melted and vanished. Smoke poured from the skull. Flames sprang forth from the emperor's eyes. Familiar red mist streaked from the fire. The Horsemen screamed, convulsing in place, as four streams of the mist rushed inside them.

The essence of Sidious. Cruel strong anguish passion fear faith avarice pain hate violence vanity treachery theft sadist power patience fury betrayal madness anger vicious misery bold blind callous brutal relentless woe torment hubris death.

The bridge was silent.

The fleet was still.

The light of dead stars framed a new emperor.


	26. No One is Special

Four long days had passed since Axxila. Being contemplative by nature, Obi-Wan thrived in the fraught silence of the Tangent. His choices were assessed and buried, and dug up and assessed, buried and dug up, and so on and so on.

There was a traitor among his crew. The Sith had a head start. He had no explanation for Padme's memory. Miler Crata was dead. And Aayla teetered at the chasm of the Dark Side. These things, in sum, formed a wound in the Force where Obi-Wan touched it. Thus he shut the Force out for hours at a time. In these moments, he was truly afraid of what he felt.

Obi-Wan restricted access to important locations. External communication was suspended indefinitely.

He was sitting in the cockpit when Julian's voice rang through his comlink. "Obi-Wan, you wanted to know when..."

"Thank you, Doctor."

* * *

Landon squinted against the light. He was in a bed, covered in white sheets. He couldn't feel his hand, but his fingers were flexing.

"Can you hear me?" asked Julian. "You're in sick bay. Aboard the Dawn Tangent. You were in very rough shape, but you're going to be fine."

Obi-Wan leaned down, gripping the bed rail. "Landon, I need you to focus. What happened on Axxila?" Landon cringed. His eyes squeezed shut. " _What happened to Miler_?"

Julian said, "He's in no shape to be interrogated."

"I would think you, of all people, would want to know what happened."

" _Step back from my patient_ ," the doctor demanded. "You're in charge of this mission but _not_ my infirmary."

Obi-Wan's forbidding mien broke. He knew not the origin of his spontaneous rancor. "Indeed, I am not," his voice deflated. "You'll be all right, Mister Solo. We'll talk when you're well."

Obi-Wan touched the doctor's arm. "I'll send R2 to look after him. You're needed in the briefing."

* * *

The crew assembled in stellar cartography. Holographs of the planet Mareth projected through the room.

Quinn led the briefing with obsessive precision. "Ten years ago, there was a deadly plague. We know very little about the pathogen. We only know it spread quickly—and was deemed incurable."

"I studied the records," Julian added. "It was lacking in detail. The documentation was, frankly, disgraceful."

Quinn continued, "The Republic could not allow it to get off-world. We quarantined Mareth and set up a defense grid. No one has entered; no one has left. There's been no communication in the last ten years."

"We'll have to use hazard suits," Obi-Wan said. "We have no way of knowing if the plague is still active."

Julian said, "It's pretty cold-blooded. We left them there to die."

Quinn moved to one side so corpse holographs framed him. "When there are only bad choices, moral ground becomes flat."

"That's charming," Julian grumbled.

Obi-Wan mused that the men were the two colors of a chance cube. Quinn saw the galaxy through an assassin droid's eyes. Julian's heart had a porch light and a mat that said Welcome. "Let's focus on the lives that can still be saved," Obi-Wan said.

"I agree," said Padme. "But Julian's right. Whoever's left won't be happy to see us. Even before the quarantine, they didn't like the Republic."

"Why not?" asked Aayla.

"Mareth was controversial. It has a memory-based economy." At Aayla's frown, Padme explained: "They don't use credits. Goods and services are paid for with memories."

"How does that work?" Aayla puzzled. "Every person is different. The government can't tell you what your memories are worth."

Palmer smirked in the corner. "Why not? They tell you what to do. They might as well tell you what it's worth to have done it."

Padme moved to the center of the room. This was the same conversation she'd had in the Senate. "Value isn't fixed. If you go buy a speeder, the dealer tells you what memory he'll accept. A family vacation, a perfect first date..."

"That's barbaric," said Julian. "Losing your memories..."

"I agree. I constantly fought with Mareth's delegation. Bail Organa worked with me; we tried to make them adopt credits. But we didn't succeed. The whole planet hated me."

"You also voted for the quarantine," Quinn pointed out. "I do not expect cooperation. We must hope the Sith are tardy."

Obi-Wan nodded against the wall of a closed fist. Mareth's survivors (if there were any) wouldn't help the Republic. Obi-Wan's only resource would be his crew. "We need a place to start. Mister Trask: I welcome your suggestions."

Palmer commandeered the projector. The holograph of an ancient temple filled the whole room.

"What am I looking at?" Obi-Wan asked.

Palmer explained, "Mareth didn't let outsiders study their ruins. This is the only panoramic holograph we have on record."

Julian frowned. "How is that even possible? A tourist can take holographs."

"Every site was locked down," Quinn interjected. "Over the years, they killed thousands of trespassers."

Padme said, "That begs the question: what are they hiding?"

Obi-Wan looked between Palmer and Quinn. "Tell me about the holograph."

Quinn made to speak until Palmer brushed past him. The historian snarled unseen by his counterpart. Palmer walked through the hologram, squatting by a pillar. "Most of the text is unreadable, but there's one fragment here."

Quinn said, "Third-Era Marethene. That places it around 40,000 BE. It's incredibly well preserved. I would value—"

"The translation, Quinn," Obi-Wan demanded.

"I believe it says, 'You are the echo.'"

Only his mastery of the Force prevented Obi-Wan's gasp. Heat rolled through his limbs, and he stared straight down.

"What does that mean?" Aayla asked.

Quinn said, "I do not know the reference."

 _"When born you were, an echo in the Force, I felt."_ Obi-Wan walked to the pillar, inspecting the script. It was neatly written, compact but elegant, with a trademark flourish at the end of each word. The Jedi knew his own writing when he saw it.

Obi-Wan demanded answers from the Force over its searing disapproval. But he couldn't make sense of what it gave him. He turned away, concealing his consternation.

"Who recorded this?" asked Julian. "When was it taken?"

Palmer ghosted a grin as he studied Obi-Wan. "No one knows. It was received at the Jedi Temple nineteen years ago."

"Before you left," Quinn realized.

"I thought nothing of it. Mareth didn't interest me."

Obi-Wan blinked, pulling back from the Force. "Do you know where it was taken?"

"There's nothing to cross-reference," said Palmer. "It could be anywhere."

"Then we'll have to find someone who does know."

Julian said, "It's one site out of hundreds. Are you sure it's important?"

Obi-Wan stroked his beard, masking a grim expression. "It's the lead we have. Whoever sent this to the Jedi must have had a reason."

The doctor posed another question: "There's still the matter of the defense grid. How do you plan to get through?"

"I pulled the decryption key from Republic intelligence," said Obi-Wan. "R2 can transmit."

Quinn told Padme: "We should take precautions, Senator. Your reception may be... lukewarm."

Padme smiled acidly. "I will rely on my protectors."

"Your trust inspires," Obi-Wan deadpanned. "It's five hours until orbit. Let's all be ready. Dismissed."

* * *

Aayla's thoughts were a reel, assembled out of order from despair-ridden celluloid. She kept it together in the briefing, but every moment of calm promised turmoil later.

She sniffed twice before rising. Taking her saber, she entered the corridor.

Halfway to the cockpit, she found Obi-Wan at a viewport. He was staring at the structure orbiting Mareth. The defense grid was comprised of nine spheres, with thick bands of energy coursing between them. Together, they deployed a shimmering field that blocked traffic both ways. There was beauty, mystery, in its slight undulation. But Obi-Wan knew the field was a death sentence.

"R2 should have us through in a few minutes," Obi-Wan said. Aayla forced a tight smile, remaining silent. "About before—I apologize if I—" The Force screamed a warning at his relenting deportment. Aayla was walking Vader's path. Yet his humanity disputed his Jedi duty. He couldn't hold back the truth.

"I'm angry, too, Aayla," he admitted with creeping fear. "That's why attachments are forbidden. But I had one to Miler. And I have one to you. I'm not afraid for you because it's my duty. I'm afraid because I love you."

His invocation of love brought sweet memories gone rancid to Aayla's mind. She shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of Miler's jacket.

He said, "The Force is not fair, Aayla. I once believed otherwise, but I've seen too much. The Light demands we walk one road. And cast away anything impeding our stride. It asks the impossible. And it plies us with nothing but the knowledge we're 'good.'"

In his mind's eye, he saw Vader thrust into Padme. "There are infinite paths that lead to the Dark Side. That is the Sith's strength. The slightest bitterness can change our course." Aayla lifted her head. The imploring look on his face frightened her. He said, "No one turns to the Dark Side for what they think are the wrong reasons."

Suddenly his comlink cried: "Bweeep."

Obi-Wan looked out the viewport. The force field was gone. He touched Aayla's face before turning to the cockpit. "I'm coming, R2."

* * *

"What kind of 'activity?'" Obi-Wan demanded.

R2 said, "In the past week, we are the third ship to transmit the key."

"The Sith are already here then. Somehow they gained access to Republic intelligence files." He didn't tell R2 about the saboteur. That knowledge was restricted. His brain was moving on when it stopped cold with realization. "'The third ship to transmit,'" he repeated. "That means the other two didn't come together."

"Affirmative. There were three days between them."

Obi-Wan filed that for later. "Anything else?"

"I found an anomaly," R2 said. "Repeating every day since the defense grid was activated."

"Specify."

"A small data packet. The force field drops for one one-millionth of a second, allowing the packet to pass through."

Obi-Wan frowned. "What's in the data packet?"

"Unknown."

He pinched his chin between his thumb and pointer. "Could someone lower the force field _without_ the decryption key?"

"Theoretically."

"Then _theorize_."

"Could the Force not achieve this?"

"Wielded sufficiently," Obi-Wan said. Almost immediately, he wanted to dismiss it. This was a planet-wide force field. Very few people had power on that scale. But very few is not none. "Keep this to yourself," he told R2.

* * *

The sentient mind is a marvel. But faced with trauma, it loses integrity. When something bad happens, we can usually be strong while the moment demands it. We can even be strong when no one's watching. But when people inquire as to how we're doing, and we accept their sincerity, we acquaint with the tears we gave up waiting on.

Julian understood this. Thus he kept his voice plain. "Landon woke up," he said from the doorway. "I thought you'd want to know."

Aayla nodded silently. They turned their heads to see Padme walk past.

"We're about to land," she announced.

They walked to the cockpit, where Obi-Wan was piloting.

Mareth, from space, looked sublimely unusual. Its composition was only twenty percent ocean, and the royal blues were more beautiful for their relative scarcity. Modest ice sheets covered the poles, contrasting the planet's jungles and deserts. The husks of dead starships were trapped in orbit.

Palmer reported, "Life signs are concentrated on the eastern continent. It looks like one large city. The rest of the planet's barely inhabited."

"Then we know where we're going," Obi-Wan said.

* * *

Vast cities were derelict, mausoleums for millions of the dead. In ten short years, nature had reclaimed much of the environment. Skyscraping obelisks were choked by vines. Predators, prey played their zero-sum game in the heart of downtown.

Many cities had been abandoned, but some had been sacked. The capital city was barely recognizable. Where once there were bridges, only pylons remained. The Capitol dome was so much rubble. Decomposed bodies lay among garbage.

Padme felt herself blanching. "This wasn't just the plague. Someone destroyed it."

Aayla said, "If the Sith are—"

"It wasn't the Sith," Obi-Wan said. "This happened years ago."

Palmer stood at the scanner. "We should see it soon. The city's called Cuimhn."

"We're totally in the dark," Julian lamented. "Even with the suits, we're taking a big risk."

Padme asked, "Did you think saving the galaxy would be safe?"

"I'm giving you my medical opinion, Senator. Do what you want with it."

She graciously ignored him, knowing grief was in his tone. His words were forgotten when she looked out the window.

The city of Cuimhn came into focus. It began on shore, and sprawled over the ocean, stretching thousands of miles beyond the horizon. Cuimhn took inspiration from bustling Coruscant. It had a similar aesthetic, and the same stacking layout that placed building upon building, until the clouds marked the end of bombastic spires. But it was far less dense, better optimized. Cuimhn's white-orange palette created the appearance of a constant sunset.

Five small drones streaked by the Tangent. Screeching sirens signaled concern. They formed a wall by the window, matching speed with the ship.

The radio crackled, and a terse male voice filled the Tangent cockpit: "Unknown aircraft, this is control. We are transmitting coordinates to a landing pad. You are directed to land immediately. Failure to comply will result in your destruction."

"Acknowledged, control," Obi-Wan said. "Unknown will comply."

* * *

Docking clamps seized the Dawn Tangent. Obi-Wan and Padme descended the ramp wearing hazard suits.

It was a military complex, judging by the armored guards. Obi-Wan grinned at their risible complement, all clamoring for action.

A Primly Dressed Woman received Obi-Wan and Padme. Her unrepentant stare revealed a lifelong bureaucrat. She had just the right levels of annoyance and apathy. The Woman's hair was drawn back in a very tight bun.

There was every indication the air was safe to breathe. Ordinarily, Obi-Wan would be cautious. But in their present situation, diplomacy prevailed.

Obi-Wan's helmet slid off with a hiss. "Hello there."

The Woman studied him as Padme unmasked. "Welcome to Mareth, Master Jedi."

"Thank you. This is—"

"Senator Padme Amidala." Wandering anger congealed to a vicious smile. "Of Naboo, if I recall."

Padme couldn't count the number of men she'd condemned to death throughout the war. But the dead cannot speak. These people could. Padme's suit gloves hid her tremor.

"My reputation precedes me," Padme managed. "Is this..."

"The last outpost of our people," The Woman said. "The rest of the world is lost. We take extreme measures to protect what remains."

Her parlous undercurrent didn't shake Obi-Wan. "It is very important that we speak with your leadership."

"May I ask what it pertains to?"

"I'm afraid this matter requires strictest confidence," Obi-Wan said.

The Woman squinted. "It is not everyone who may meet with the Premiere. Fewer, still, who come from off-world."

"Are we not the first?" Obi-Wan asked knowingly.

When there was no reply, Padme interjected: "This is very important. Lives are at stake. You can't imagine how many."

With a sneering laugh, not quite believing Padme's audacity, the Woman said, "All things are possible for one who pays the cost."

"What is your price?" Obi-Wan asked.

He might've expected her pleasure at the question. The Woman produced a small object from inside her coat. It was a thin blue disc, hollow at the center and one inch in diameter. Tiny serrations covered one side.

Obi-Wan knew right away: it was a _cognator_. Their awful means of extracting memories. "I would suggest an alternative. One with real value."

"What a quaint notion: the Jedi who refutes intangibles' value."

"I will not judge your way of life. But we are not part of it."

"Judgment is implicit in your refusal. And in your choice of companions," she said with a glance at Padme. "Master Jedi, do you even know _why_ we chose this way of life?" His indulgent silence launched her into a lesson. "Two hundreds years ago, before we joined the Republic, our world was ruled by an oligarchy. The state controlled everything: food, manufacturing, news. An aristocracy thrived while the rest of us suffered."

The Woman peered coldly at the space between them. "Revolution was inevitable. The campaign was long, bloody, and successful. But nothing so confounds a revolutionary as the end of the revolution. We controlled the planet, but we couldn't change the past. We carried our pain. The wealthy carried remembrance of comfort."

Padme's throat felt tight.

"The ones we let live rotted in jail," The Woman said. "But every time they closed their eyes, they escaped to another world. A world far better than the one they left us."

Obi-Wan said, "You wanted the powerful to feel your pain."

"No, Master Jedi. We wanted the pained to feel powerful." The Woman held up the disc between her thumb and pointer. Her chin tilted fiercely, and she stared at Obi-Wan. "You are not special. _No one_ is special. You will pay our price, or you will leave our planet."

He took the disc in his hand. Padme's apoplectic visage, laid bare to The Woman, broke Obi-Wan's heart. He fought tooth and nail to stay centered in the Force.

He pressed the disc to his temple. A soft grunt ripped free as it pierced his skin. Little pincers fixed it in place. The disc glowed brightly, signaling function. "How does it work?" he asked.

"You will simply think of a memory. Your cognator will transfer it to my brain."

"Tell me what you want."

Bestial elation filled the woman's eyes. "Your best memory of Padme Amidala."

The color drained from Padme's face. Obi-Wan tried to block it out, but his blood was chilled by her utter dismay. There was, of course, no choice. No one's whisper, not even Padme's, could outshout the cries of trillions.

"Obi-Wan..." Padme said helplessly.

One memory, he reasoned to himself. His bond with Padme didn't hinge on a moment. But the memory that presented was more precious than anything. Living without it was as inconceivable as it was inevitable.

"Very well," said Obi-Wan.

"Your cognator will provide a preview," The Woman said. "The first moments of your memory will project as a hologram. This allows me to confirm the memory is sufficient."

"There will be no preview. You have my word the memory will suffice."

The Woman regarded him as a crow does the expiring. "Terms are agreed," she said after a moment. "You may find it helps to close your eyes."

Padme smeared a tear from forlorn face.

The dignified Jedi shut his eyes lightly. His head flinched back. The cognator flashed. There was REM-like movement behind his lids. Childlike fear came over Padme. This wasn't right. It was vile. Who would he be? He wouldn't remember.

Obi-Wan gasped and his eyes shot open.

There was something there, a soft hand in vapor, rapidly receding like dreams when we wake. He tried to hold on. He tried to remember. But there was only a faint shape of stolen jubilation.

He felt fingers on his arm. "I'm all right," he said strangely.

Riotous mirth filled the Woman's eyes. She alone knew what Obi-Wan chose. There was something real, something eternal, between Obi-Wan and Padme, and she'd carved out a trophy to remind her how she hurt them.

"Was it worth it, Master Jedi?"

Feral gall burned in his eyes. "I will see your Premiere now."


	27. The Arc of Morality

Cuimhn had little to recommend it before The Red Death. The city's origin traced back to the revolution. It was originally part of Podra, the former capital, which became five jurisdictions following the war. Cuimhn was the least important of these spun-off cities, a tepid mix of trade schools and industry.

But the plague changed everything. Blessed with few infected, Cuimhn was the perfect place for Mareth's rulers to regroup. They killed their infected and severed all ties with the rest of the planet. Cuimhn was reshaped into a modern metropolis. Engineers added section upon section, under protection of the military. The population was growing, now that the Maretheans had accepted their new world.

There was shocking continuity in systems and culture. Mareth's memory-based economy continued to thrive. Thus art and writing remained vital. Paintings, journals, and holo-vids were the only sure ways to preserve your history. One family emergency and the best moment of your life could be forever lost.

People off-world would call this savage. Perhaps it was. Yet I must suggest this: we've mythologized principle, but the arc of morality bends toward nihilism.

Padme had never been to Mareth, despite battling its rulers in the galactic senate. Largely thanks to her efforts, the quarantine was passed by a narrow margin. At the time, its stark consequences seemed a bad dream. But her bed on Coruscant was a long way away.

She glimpsed Cuimhn through the window of the government building. Many stories below, in what was left of the Upper City, a people drafted to die went about their affairs. _Life finds a way_ , her father used to tell her.

Premiere Hall, the headquarters of Mareth's central government, was made entirely of glass. The sun poured through the ceiling, so an orange halo capped everyone's heads, and continued to the floor, which like a clock without a face showed the machinery that fulcrumed the building.

"Wait here," said their escort.

Padme took the opportunity to study her friend. His eyes were still glassy.

"I'm fine," said Obi-Wan.

"Julian should look at you."

"In due course. I hope you realize this is only the beginning."

Fear squeezed her voice into a higher octave. "If that's only the beginning, it will be the end of us all."

He tried to focus on her worry, but it was all he could do to stand. He hoped the first time was worst, that each theft got easier. He prayed his brain tissued over every scalpeled experience. Better a scar than the gaping maw he had now.

"Not everyone," Obi-Wan said. "Not you."

" _And what's next?" Bail thundered. "Do we burn everyone excused of sedition? We are not_ Sith!"

" _If that plague gets loose, it could kill the whole galaxy!" Padme fired back. "It's ravaged Mareth in thirty-six hours!"_

_Bail's palm slammed on the desk. "I will not condemn them before we've even tried to help! Every disease has a cure. They need doctors, healers, pathogen experts."_

" _And how many would you spare? We're at war, Bail. And severely short of medical professionals. Mareth is lost. Sending doctors to their death won't help anything."_

_This wasn't the woman he befriended. She was colder now, simpler. More like a Jedi. "You'd let millions of children die, without even trying."_

" _And you'd kill billions, just to say you_ did _try," Padme retorted. "Neither one of us will sleep. But only one of us is right. You make your speech. I'll make mine. The Senate will decide Mareth's fate."_

" _And who decides yours?" Bail asked quietly._

_Padme's face remained schooled, while molten earth swirled underneath. Everyone makes the right decision when the right thing is clear. Those who choose when it's not are the ones we revere._

" _History."_

Gentle string music floated through the room. The walls were adorned with impressionist paintings, depicting villages from pre-industrial Mareth. The artist's care was commendable. Each raindrop was totally unique. Every slat of the village rooves was lovingly detailed. It transported Padme back to Naboo.

Obi-Wan flicked a hand to black out the cameras. "They knew we were coming."

Padme turned at his voice. "The saboteur?"

"Presumably. The important thing is the Sith were here first. I'm sure they tried to make a deal."

"I don't like our chances," Padme lamented. "You may be The Negotiator—but I'm a lead weight."

Obi-Wan read a pain only he would recognize. "They may not admire you. But they'll take a good deal."

"And what are we offering?"

"Everything it takes."

Padme acquiesced to Obi-Wan's surety. But there was something nagging at her. She thought back to the crew's discussion about Mareth. "Back on the Tangent: there was something you didn't tell us. I saw your face when you looked at the holograph."

Obi-Wan's mouth compressed. "The text. It was in my handwriting."

Padme's head jerked back. A sudden coldness filled her belly. "What does that mean?"

"It means you were right," Obi-Wan said. "It means an older version of myself traveled through time. He wrote that message. He made it deliberately obtuse so only I understood." He pulled at his beard before he finally met her eye. "Those ruins hold the answers."

"That's good, isn't it?" Padme said.

"The Sith don't know what the message means. But I'm sure they've seen the holograph. They're looking for the site just like we are."

Padme wrinkled her brow. "It has to be Palmer. He's the saboteur."

"I trusted him," argued Obi-Wan. "At least—the _other_ me did. He sent Palmer the holograph. He showed Palmer the cavern on Halm. There has to be a reason."

Padme didn't miss the pain-brackets etched around his mouth. Each moment of intense focus was making his head ache. "It's called Post-Cognition Syndrome. Everyone gets it the first time they..." She couldn't bring herself to say it.

Obi-Wan's breath caught looking in her eyes. No strength of will could return his lost experience. When it first crept into his head that it lived on in Padme, he hadn’t felt peace, hadn’t felt glad for her; instead, he’d wished their roles were reserved. This lasted just a moment, released into the Force. But he'd never forgive himself for what he’d desired.

"Padme—"

The door opened, and a young woman said, "The Premiere will see you now."

* * *

Premiere Karn was the rare man who got away with his mistakes, possessed of a swagger that fringed on delusion. He liked to call himself the grandson of the revolution. Yet he couldn’t conceive his power was tenuous. This ignorance was, to a large degree, liberating.

Out of Karn’s arrogance peered an erudite devil. "Senator Amidala: you're far prettier in person.” He reveled at Padme’s paleness. “You probably don't remember me. I was only a councilman. I never had the pleasure of challenging you in the Senate."

"It was a busy time."

"That's chillingly quaint."

Her tightened jaw made lumps along her cheeks. "I know I'm not welcome here. I'm sure you hate me, Premiere. But I won't tell you I made a mistake."

"You traded our lives to ensure your own safety."

"Not _my_ safety," said Padme. "The safety of trillions."

Karn curled his lip, and a dark veil unfurled in the Force. Suddenly Obi-Wan's mind filled with Karn's memories. The dead, too numerous to bury, piled ten high on cordoned-off streets. Tears upon tears, until everyone realized crying didn't work.

Karn quietly raged, “Does a mother look in a child's eyes and console her with math?"

Padme's eyes screamed, at Karn and herself. "Ask yourself the question. We saw all the cities you burned to the ground."

Obi-Wan flashed his palm. "We can litigate the past, or we can find a way forward." Neither party seemed amenable, but the Premiere was first to bury his anger. His tilted head signaled Obi-Wan to speak.

"You have something we need. We have something you want."

"What I want," said Karn, "is to deny you what you need."

"Do your people feel the same? There's twenty thousand Maretheans who weren't here when the plague struck. How many families could be reunited?"

"You would lower the force field?" Karn said with forced amazement.

"Not only the force field," Obi-Wan said. "The Republic will destroy every trace of the disease—including the infected. We'll rebuild your planet solely at our expense."

It was a triumph of discipline that Karn didn’t move. This was more than he expected from the judgmental Republic. “You're looking for ruins?" asked Karn.

"One site in particular," Obi-Wan said.

"I'm afraid I can't help you. We had a city-wide power failure early this week. The bureau of antiquities lost its records."

That sounded like the Sith. Either by their own hand or under agreement. Obi-Wan pressed, "Surely _something_ survived."

"You are welcome to inquire," Karn assured him. "You and your crew may move about Cuimhn. But there is one condition." Obi-Wan tracked Karn's eyes to the saber on his belt. "You'll relinquish your weapons. There will be no war here."

The Jedi smiled inside at his foil's smugness. He let his arms hang, unclipping his saber with a psychic suggestion. The hilt floated from his belt, hanging in the air just out of reach.

Karn's jaw constringed. He saw his own face reflected on the chrome.

"I'm curious," said Obi-Wan, "if you have any more of these."

"How could I?" asked Karn.

"How indeed."

Karn plucked it from the air. He tested its weight but eyeballed Padme. Callous bemusement coated his voice. "Senator Amidala, may I ask if you're armed?"

"My station suffices," Padme said.

"Let us hope. It is a— _busy time_." His lips had raised snarling. Blithe darkness mottled his face. A deep chill rippled through Padme.

"Thank you for your time, Premiere," Obi-Wan said.

* * *

"Is he working with the Sith?" Padme asked.

"Perhaps. Surely they offered the same deal we did. At the very least, the Premiere would allow them in Cuimhn."

"So what do we do?"

"We pay a visit to the bureau of antiquities," Obi-Wan said. "The records may have been lost. But that doesn't mean no one remembers." They descended the steps from Premiere Hall, drawing aberrant looks at their hazard suits. "First, the Tangent. I'm going to need help."

Parked at the curb was a dirty taxi. A grizzled cabbie, leaning on the door, took a long drag from his flavored death stick. "Looking for a ride?"

Obi-Wan saw a sign mounted to the roof. It read 'Two-memory minimum.'

"I think we'll walk," he said.


	28. Nothing in My Wake

"How did it go?" Julian asked.

Obi-Wan swept past him, forcing the doctor to follow. They strode toward stellar cartography, where the rest of the crew waited. "We're playing catch-up. The Sith were here first."

"How do you know?"

Padme said dryly, "The Force. Always the Force."

Obi-Wan glared at her sidelong. The three joined the rest of the crew. Quinn was first to speak up: "The senator lives. You really are 'The Negotiator.'"

"Yes, but you're a very close second," Padme said.

"What's our status?" asked Aayla.

Obi-Wan moved to the computer. He spoke over his shoulder: "We're free to access the city. The premiere referred us to the bureau of antiquities." He swiped through the data bank, called up an image of a pale young woman. "Coda Prosper: director of the bureau. We'll need her help to find the ruins."

Julian asked, "What about the Sith?"

"They'll have the same idea," Obi-Wan admitted.

"And a healthy head start," Padme added. "We have to hope Miss Prosper didn't help them."

Aayla frowned. "You're _sure_ the Sith are here?"

Obi-Wan wasn't ready to reveal all his cards. So he proffered his lesser evidence. "Karn didn't seem surprised by our sudden arrival. He didn't seem curious what was happening off-world."

"Ten years in quarantine," Julian said. "After all this time, I might've had questions."

"Unless someone's already answered them," Aayla realized.

Obi-Wan tried to access Mareth's medical database but found it restricted. Clearly the Maretheans wouldn't give them anything. They'd have to fight for everything they needed. "Finding the ruins means we'll have to leave the city. And risk exposure to Red Death." He turned from the computer. "Doctor, I want you to learn everything you can about the plague. You'll need direct access to their medical database."

"That won't be easy," said Padme. "You may have to grease some palms."

Julian noted the cognator on Obi-Wan's temple. The reality of Mareth crashed into his mind. Which cherished memories would the doctor part with?

"I will 'grease' these palms," Quinn said in a voice elusively quiet. Julian wondered at his motive—kindness, impatience?

The doctor swallowed his shame. "Are you certain?"

“I prize nothing in my wake."

Obi-Wan touched Quinn's shoulder before handing out orders. "There's no time for frivolity. So R2 will stay here." The droid harrumphed. "Aayla, you watch Landon. Padme, Palmer—with me. Let's keep in touch, but scramble messages."

The crew jumped into action. Everyone filed out except R2 and Aayla, hanging back to grouse at Obi-Wan. He preempted their anger with pacifying tones: "Relax. I have a job for you, too. A very discrete one."

* * *

It wouldn't do to draw attention. That ruled out the headquarters of the Department of Plague Management. They'd have to settle for a secondary center (and hope its computers had what they needed). Getting there would take them through working-class Cuimhn.

Julian stood outside the store while Quinn was fitted for a cognator. Quinn's physiology and brain structure made it somewhat complicated. The technician assured them he could overcome it, though.

Gaiety was forfeit in this part of the city. Dilapidated storefronts lined decayed roads that predated the revolution. The sector's inhabitants were equally austere. Not even drugs could revive them to happiness.

The adjacent bank had a scrolling news ticker. Julian read the headlines: "Premiere vetoes legislation to outlaw receptacles. Constable Volker: Four Twi'lek found dead, Sentinel involved. Construction begins on Cuimhn expansion."

Julian turned to a young woman standing at the corner. "What's a 'receptacle?'"

She screwed up her face. "What are you: a Reset? Receptacles— _receps_ —they hold rich people's money. Arrogant assholes can't clutter their own heads. Most receps go insane from that many memories."

How easily she said it. Julian felt a chill run up his spine.

"What kind of life is that?" he wondered.

Quinn emerged from the store, a gleaming cognator fixed to his temple. The grim yellow stare he permanently wore had no less effect for familiarity.

"Are you all right?" asked Julian.

Quinn snarled mildly, "It is an indignity. I have experienced many."

"If it helps, you're the most dignified man I know."

"I would hear the assessment of men more traveled."

Julian winced. "You need to learn how to take a compliment."

"They are not needed," Quinn said. "This will be your lesson. Do not rely on others to maintain your own worth."

The doctor considered it as they walked. The Trandoshans were warriors, and Jedi had no attachments, and Julian couldn't fathom such a loneliness as a life spurning connection. If ego was his motive in matters of praise, he could accept he was a narcissist.

Julian read all the signs in the passing windows: "No Good Memories? No Problem! Credit Available!" / "20% off all recep contracts!" / "Don't let it slip away! Record your life with an ocular implant!"

"Get outta here!" a fruit vendor barked. He shrugged off a grubby man begging for an apple. "You think I want your short-terms? You sleep in a gutter! Go watch a sunset. Then you can eat."

Righteous enmity unfurled in Julian. Quinn grabbed his arm and pulled him along. "It is no concern of ours," the reptile said.

Julian watched the poor wretch, whistling pain through the few teeth he had, stumble three steps and crash to the ground. Red boils, flaked skin, put Julian in mind of Bledsoe's disease.

The doctor swallowed hard against the memory of Halm.

"Quite right," he said miserably.

* * *

Coda Prosper was abnormal among "Total Resets." That term referred to people who lost their entire memories. It was illegal (and impossible) to sell every memory you had. Bankruptcy was the only reason your mind would be wiped. In these cases, memories were not transferred but _erased_.

Amnesiacs were another (much smaller) category of total resets. In the history of Mareth, there were only forty-five cases. Coda was one of them.

Her current post was controversial at the Bureau of Antiquities. That wasn't always so. Before the Red Death, Coda was held in high esteem. She became director at twenty-five after a string of successes deciphering old tablets. When she survived the Red Death, Premiere Karn was elated.

And then her memory was gone. Without warning or reason. There was no sign of trauma, physical or mental. She simply woke one morning without her identity.

Logic would suggest she resign from her post. But her second-in-command, Logan Brace, lobbied the premiere to protect her position. Logan argued the directorship was administrative in nature. Her lost knowledge of Mareth's history wouldn't make her ineffective. In a widely panned move, Premiere Karn agreed.

The staff was embittered. Coda knew that. She fought tooth and nail to earn their respect. Day after day, she read her old textbooks. She explored the bureau archives in the middle of the night. But nothing was enough. They'd always see her as the girl who got lucky.

Coda stood at the sink, impeccable as ever. Her ginger hair was coiled into complex braids, held firmly in place by a golden slide. Her very pale skin had no demarcations, just a smattering of freckles that peeked through her makeup. Perfectly symmetrical green eyes beamed at the mirror.

Logan said the Old Coda was never happy. She was rooted to a pain no one understood. New Coda floated with the ease of a leaf.

She ignored her team's skepticism as she passed by their desks. Today was a day. And days were meant to be enjoyed.

* * *

Obi-Wan surprised her by foregoing the "mind trick." He called on his charm to get through security. He told Padme using his powers would expose them to scrutiny.

The elevator ascended with a gentle hum. Obi-Wan asked Palmer, "What do you know about Prosper?"

"She's good at what she does. The job suits a woman. Every female in the galaxy's obsessed with the past."

Obi-Wan caught Padme pursing her lips. "And we are richer for their different nature. Now tell me about _her_."

Palmer said, "Too young for her position. Too talented to keep her out of it. Ruled over their ruins with an iron fist."

"Would you trust her?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Any answer is wasted, when you don't trust me."

Palmer had no equal for confounding expressions. The skin crinkled around his eyes, as if from a smile, but his mouth didn't move.

The elevator stopped and Obi-Wan exited.

Having foregone his Jedi robes at Padme's suggestion, they blended right in. It didn't take long to find Coda's office.

Padme faltered at the sight of her. Coda's tresses burned bright like a cosmic event. She seemed to have her own light source, pouring through her skin to illuminate the world.

Padme was obsessive about her own appearance. She spent two hours getting ready, but was generally satisfied. It was crushing to believe she could never be as beautiful as the woman before her.

"Director Prosper?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Coda will do," came her gentle voice. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I'm a member of the Jedi Council."

Her nose turned up and wrinkled. A vague recognition seated in her mind. "You do look familiar. Did we meet before the outbreak?"

"I do not believe so."

"Then I'm all the more charmed," Coda smiled. Padme's nails dug into her palm.

"We seek your assistance," Obi-Wan explained. "There are ruins on Mareth of considerable importance. We're hoping—"

Coda cut in, not unsympathetically, "I'll tell you the same thing I told your friends: the power outage wiped our systems. We have to rebuild our files. It's going to take weeks."

Padme's heart froze in her chest. "'Our friends?'"

"The other Jedi. They were here two days ago." Coda suddenly pinkened, dragged to the realization of her terrible naivety.

"They weren't Jedi," she breathed.

" _You are a Jedi, and a warrior. Soon you will be a father. There is no piece of you remaining that you could give to me."_

_Quinn grunted. "I will grow a new limb. You have seen me do it."_

_Draka's forked tongue circled her outer mouth. He couldn't tell if she really understood._

_The sun was diminishing, taking with it their view of the plains. These were the plains where his father died, where his grandfather slaughtered Wookiees, where he learned to hunt before the Jedi claimed him._

_“Night is falling,” Draka said. “We are very far from home."_

"Coruscant _is far._ The Unknown Regions _are far. We are practically in your hovel." Every night in the Jedi temple, he longed for Trandosha. Blood thundered in his ears when he thought of fighting for his people, not the Republic entire. He did not choose his life, and perhaps he was wrong to have accepted it.  
_

_“The Dark Side is seductive," said Quinn. "But only Sidious controls it. Neither Sith nor Jedi will ever be free.”  
_

_Draka replied, "I have 600 midichlorians. I do not feel the Force."_

" _It binds you in spite of this. As it binds me_ **to** _you."_

" _It is not the Force which has bound us."_

_Quinn's blood ran hot. The galaxy shattered, and he swept away the pieces. When the rubble was gone, there was only Trandosha. The Jedi meant nothing. The Sith were irrelevant. Quinn was ready to take what he wanted._

Quinn's eyes snapped open. Draka and the plains were shattered, swept.

The female researcher giggled deliriously, a side effect of a happy memory.

"He gave you what you wanted,” Julian said harshly. _“Now take us to the lab."_

The researcher forged two passes to take them upstairs. No one gave them a second look. The researcher left them in the lab on a thirty-minute clock.

Julian sat at the console, keeping Quinn in his periphery. "I know you don't remember. But what do you think you gave her?"

"It does not matter," Quinn grunted.

"You're wrong about that, mate. What are our lives but a multitude of moments? Moments that shape the moments to come."

“There is only one moment that shapes what I do. It is not one they will want."

Julian found five millions files that concerned the Red Death. His back stiffened at a summary of its damage. The plague killed 91 percent of the planet's inhabitants. Over 400,000 species were completely wiped out.

"All due respect, I think they've seen worse," he said.

* * *

"I didn't give them anything," Coda insisted. "Because I don't _know_ anything."

Padme scoffed, "You're lying. Your personnel file says you're highly experienced."

Coda's pleasant demeanor still didn't crack. "I am. I mean: I _was_. Until ten years ago. My cognator malfunctioned. It wiped my memories."

"Then why are you here?" Obi-Wan demanded.

Coda flinched. He may as well have told her she was useless. "You're being very rude for people who need my help," she fired back. "Maybe they _were_ Jedi. Maybe _you're_ the real Sith."

Palmer offered an ethereal smile. "In another life, I could have been Sith. If you cut out my tongue, I could still tell a lie. But Obi-Wan Kenobi is pathologically Jedi."

Coda thought of the platitude of trusting your feelings. Too seldom was it heeded. "Tell me why you're here, Mister Kenobi."

"It would be better—"

"My trust is an even trade."

Obi-Wan ghosted a smirk, pulling out a projector. An image of the ruins flickered into being. "Our Civil War is going very badly. The Sith will destroy us in a matter of months,” he said with no emotion. “Our only chance is to find an artifact. We believe this site may hold some answers."

Coda furrowed her brow. "I don't recognize it. Without the database—"

Padme cut in, "Is there _anyone_ here who could possibly remember it?"

"Almost everyone came after the plague. Unless... Logan. My deputy. He's been studying ruins for thirty-eight years."

Obi-Wan asked, "Where is he now? It's vital we speak with him."

Coda said, "He's away on sabbatical. Writing a memoir from his journals." She saw a stricken look pass between Padme and Obi-Wan. "I didn't tell the Sith! I never mentioned Logan."

"They'll still find him," said the Jedi. "Your friend is in danger. And if he gives them his memories, the Sith will win the war."


	29. Spirit in the Mask

Aayla's thin fingers glided on the console. "I don't like that he's keeping secrets. Why didn't he tell us what you learned?"

R2's answer displayed as computer text. "Master has his reasons. At least he always says that."

This was entirely dissatisfying. Obi-Wan preached about trust while he held things in reserve. Perhaps her friend was no different than the rest of the Council. In recent days, she'd been grappling with new perspective about her service.

The serenity of Masters Mace Windu and Yoda hid a dark underbelly of Machiavellian scheming. The Council denied agency to rank-and-file Jedi, treating them as pawns in its personal war game. Even Eisley, her mentor, withheld from Aayla deep secrets of the Force.

And then there was "no attachments." Feelings are not a faucet. You can't merely turn a knob. The Council's notions about love bordered on infantile. Suppressing emotions allows no growth in coping with them. She understood now this was why Jedi fell.

Aayla shook off her reverie and focused on her task. "Okay—somehow the Sith found the cipher for the planetary shield. I understand that. But what's this 'anomaly' Obi-Wan mentioned?"

R2 said, "Every day for ten years, the shield has dropped for one one-millionth of a second. Each time, a small data packet transmits to the planet."

"And Obi-Wan wants us to find where it goes."

"Affirmative."

"It's a needle in a haystack," Aayla said. "But if we—"

R2's mewl drew her eyes to the monitor. On the infirmary security cam, a panicked Landon slithered from his bed.

Aayla took a breath that seemed to exit through her pores before it could reach her lungs. Any notion of decorum exited with it. She was already gone before R2 could protest. With every footfall through the Tangent, the Force gathered around her, guiding Aayla to the thing it knew was inevitable.

* * *

Landon staggered to a table. When it moved on its wheels, he found new harbor: an IV pole attached to his bed.

He knew he was alive. He knew he was on the Tangent. But the rest was suspended in cognitive amber.

His hand was by his ear, clenching and releasing the pole that held him up. With each minor movement, he heard whirring servos like a protocol droid's. Then came sensation. Or rather it _didn't_. His fingers flexed on command, but he couldn't feel anything. Why? What was—why was—?

A Twi'lek silhouette appeared in the doorway. Suddenly everything came rushing back.

" _What's wrong?" Landon mumbled. Miler pulled him to his feet. "There's only one tank," he said, helping Landon into his suit._

" _One tank..."_

" _We'll make do," said Miler._

He tested his voice, an octave too high. "Aayla..."

"I've been waiting for answers," Aayla said. "You're going to tell me everything."

"Of course I will. You deserve that much."

Landon returned to bed. Aayla slowly sank into Julian's office chair. Days of misery, and confusion, culminated now in her piercing stare.

Landon shuddered and gulped. "It's—it's my fault he died. He came back to save me. We reached the airlock, but—"

" _Landon!" He ran to the door, pounding on the window. "Landon, what are you doing?! Open the bloody door!"_

_Miler's heart blasted. Fear swelled in his eyes like leveed water. "Landon! You're killing me! Open the door! Open the bloody door!"_

"—but Neecho's men—there were just too many." This was true, from a certain point of view. That's what he told himself. Even as bile flirted with his throat. "It happened so fast. He was just—gone."

Aayla reached through the Force, but Landon's mental defenses were as formidable as Jedi's. His thoughts and feelings were one great fog.

"I know how you feel," Landon said.

Aayla hissed through her clenched teeth. The chair arm cracked from the force of her grip.

Landon was determined to make her see his pain. "I watched my son die. That's my load to carry. I'm so sorry that you have one, too."

Her face showed no empathy. The kinship attempted burned away clean. "Why did this happen? What were you to Neecho?"

Landon's eyes turned down. "A long time ago, I took some money that didn't belong to me. Neecho didn't forget it. He hunted me for years."

"And now Miler's dead," Aayla choked out. "Because you've lived like a wretch. Everywhere you go, you ruin more lives."

Landon considered Neecho and Han. In the boy’s own mind, the murderer was his father.

Tears welled in his eyes but did not fall. "Yes, and I've paid for that. My family is gone. I'm alone in this universe—and I deserve to be alone. You could never hate me more than I hate myself."

Aayla's hand was too close to the saber on her hip. "I could try," she growled.

* * *

The city was alive, but the sky was empty. Only their speeder's running lights cut through the cloudy day. The building spires were a thousand small pins that would stick a fallen angel. Coda never liked the view from here. Too much perspective, too little to ground her.

Logan didn't respond to their radio inquiries. Obi-Wan's comfort was perfunctory and hollow.

During the ten-minute flight, he explained events off-world. Coda was shocked to discover the Republic's coming collapse. Obi-Wan's voice held no emotion, but it leaked from his eyes.

"We could certainly use a Jedi here," Coda mused. "But it sounds like there's none to spare."

Obi-Wan said, "Things appear peaceful."

"For the most part, they are. Thanks to the Sentinel. If we didn't have him, the Black Novas would run wild. They're traffickers, killers. Karn's government ignores it. Everyone's on the take."

"Who is the Sentinel?" Padme asked.

"Karn calls him a vigilante. If you ask me, he's an angel," Coda said. "He makes life for the Novas a living hell. No one knows who he is—but Karn has a bounty on him."

This hardly surprised Padme, who'd spent her career battling the government. "It sounds like Mareth's revolution didn't accomplish anything."

The great pain of wisdom darkened Obi-Wan's face. "Every tyrant takes power by first ending tyranny."

Coda wondered idly what all he had seen, which scars and which screams had brought understanding. He was very young to appear so weary. "There's always hope," said Coda. "If there were none, you wouldn't be here."

"Hope is finite. It slowly bleeds out of us. I have enough, for now."

Padme ached seeing the stiffness of his shoulders. She pictured herself kneading them while she whispered assurances. But there was no room for such comforts in their careful intimacy.

"Coming into range," Obi-Wan said.

* * *

Logan's residence reflected his life's work. The walkway was ancient stonework, recreated with exacting accuracy, bracketed by finely sculpted Rakatans and lush cordova trees. The house itself was a tribute to ancestral masonry.

Padme hung back with Obi-Wan while Coda walked ahead. "She's very pretty," Padme blurted out. Her cheeks burned and she wouldn't look at him. "Don't you think so?"

"I hadn't noticed."

"You may be a gentleman. But you're still a man."

Obi-Wan fought back a smile. "It makes you no less beautiful that she is as well."

Coda pounded on the door but received no response. There was no light in the house or sign of movement. Obi-Wan forced the lock with a mental suggestion.

The stench of ozone waited in the foyer. Sith lighting? A saber? Obi-Wan followed it to Logan's living room. On the floor was a shattered vase. He could tell from the broken shards it was smashed on a humanoid.

Coda's concern graduated to nausea. "Blood..."

"Logan's?" asked Padme.

Obi-Wan said, "Let's find out," tapping his comlink. "Doctor, are you are there?"

Julian's voice answered: "I read you, General. We downloaded the medical info to a memory stick. We're returning returning to the Tangent."

Obi-Wan scraped some dry blood into a container. Then he ported it with his comlink. "I'm sending you a blood sample. I need a readout."

"Stand by..." It took only moments for the doctor to report: "Zabrak male. Fifteen thousand midichlorians. Looks like you found a Sith."

Obi-Wan cut the link. Rising from the floor, he paced to the wall.

Palmer said, "Your friend didn't cooperate. I admire his spunk, but the Sith will torture him."

Padme asked Coda, "What about his cognator? Could the constable use it to locate him?"

The dull shock in her chest delayed Coda's answer. She forced down her feelings to be reckoned with later. "Every cognator has a tracker. But bringing the constable over here is asking for trouble." She lowered her head before snapping it sharply. "There's another way. I'll claim urgent bureau business as a pretense for tracking him."

Palmer grinned. "Abusing power: my favorite thing."

* * *

Landon wanted to confess, to awaken her rage, so the choice to live or die would not be his own. Too long he'd been allowed to choose for himself and others.

Her eyes were more bleak than he'd ever seen anyone's. "I'm sorry, Aayla," Landon said. "I know you and the kid—you were swapping spit."

The dam suddenly broke between Aayla and the Force. Glass tubes began to shatter. The walls shook violently. Julian's instruments flew about the room. Her misery had become a telekinetic beast, threatening to rip the infirmary apart.

Aayla's saber flashed on. She was on her feet without knowing it. "You're a rot in the Force!" she found herself screaming. "I should cut you out of it, before you spread any farther!"

Blood fled his face and his eyes were full of dread. His only armor was the truth as he knew it. "I'm worse than you know," Landon's voice trembled. "I never cared what sort of man I was except the kind who breathed. But if he were here, and not me, he'd cry over my bones, in spite of what I am. I know it's wrong that I lived when the galaxy needs him. When _you_ need him. I'm sorry, Aayla. I'm so sorry that I'm here..."

The crisp light of her saber framed his pitiful face. Like an interrupted signal, contemplation of killing him receded to static.

Her blade disappeared. The hilt shook in her hand. Aayla was aghast at what she'd nearly become.

The infirmary door opened. Julian sauntered through.

He jerked back at seeing Aayla. He found Landon shrunken, ghost-white, wheezing through his broken nose.

Aayla's countenance scared him. It was molten lava cooling into rock in the wake of an eruption.

"I was just leaving," Aayla said.

* * *

Her Jedi associates waited on the street. Coda had to present this as a mundane matter.

The Office of Inquisition had an undefined mandate. Some saw it as law enforcement, others as human services. They had powers of investigation, administered cognators, and fielded citizen complaints on myriad subjects. Their reputation with each function was meager at best.

Inquisitor Edo leaned on his desk. "May I ask the nature of your emergency?"

"Nope," Coda said.

Edo smiled tightly, consulting his database. When the search returned nothing, he gave a huff of false disappointment. "His tracker is inactive. He must have removed it."

"He wouldn't take it off," Coda insisted.

"Then perhaps the Sentinel killed him," Edo said.

Coda's face turned red. The last thing she needed was the scandal of slapping him. "For your sake, Inquisitor, I'll pretend you didn't say that."

Edo's smile faltered. Ever so slightly, he sank in his chair.

* * *

Coda sighed angrily. "He didn't take off his cognator. The Sith must've paid them to erase it from the database."

"There's always a plan B," Obi-Wan said.

She grabbed the hair on her shoulder, pulling on the ends, a nervous habit from always. "There's only one other person who can access a tracker. The Memory Master."

Padme knew the name. "I thought he was a myth." She caught Obi-Wan's stare and continued, "As the story goes, he's over 300 years old. He invented the process for transferring memories."

"He's not a myth," said Coda, "but I don't know who he is. No one does. Unless..."

Obi-Wan watched her bite the inside of her cheek. He found it refreshing: there was nothing hidden, no subtext with Coda. He poked at her indecision: "I won't pretend I'm doing this for your friend. But we want the same thing: finding him safe."

Coda looked off. It wasn't the time to get stingy. "They're only rumors. But some people think the Memory Master... may be aiding the Sentinel."

Obi-Wan's eyes brightened and he turned down the sidewalk. Padme demanded, "Where are you going?"

"We need a scoundrel," Obi-Wan said.

* * *

Commanders focus on a task to the exclusion of all else. This was Obi-Wan's strength, and his weakness. One day earlier, he'd browbeat Landon to explain Miler's fate. But this interest was suspended in deference to the mission.

Obi-Wan gathered the crew for a briefing. "This 'Sentinel' is the key to finding the Memory Master. He works against a crime syndicate called the Black Novas. They deal in murder, drugs, and slaves. We'll use the Black Novas to draw out the Sentinel."

Padme said, "So much for keeping a low profile."

Obi-Wan asked Landon, "I'm sure you've been through here. Did you deal with the Novas?"

Landon cast a glance down. His muted voice sounded nothing like his own. "Yeah, boss. But that was over ten years ago. Pretty good odds my guy kicked the bucket."

"We've had enough bad luck," said Padme. "I'd say we're due for a minor miracle."

Aayla clenched her stomach. Bad luck. _Bad luck._ Would Obi-Wan's corpse arouse such nonchalance? Padme wasn't her friend. A friend wouldn't say that. No one in this room was worthy of his sacrifice. She wanted to scream, to reach through the Force and choke their shadows.

Obi-Wan was oblivious. "I'll make contact. And offer them a sale of two hundred lightsabers."

" _Two hundred lightsabers_?" Landon scoffed.

"I have no intention of completing the deal. But it should suffice to get the Sentinel's attention."

Julian said, "You're placing a lot of faith in a vigilante."

"It is not worth the risk," Quinn echoed.

"I'll note that in my log," Obi-Wan deadpanned. "Aayla, Quinn: grab your gear. You're coming with me."

The crew disbanded, leaving Obi-Wan, Coda, and Julian alone in stellar cartography.

Coda said, "I don't love your plan."

"If this Sentinel is an 'angel,'" Obi-Wan said, "we'll have nothing to worry about, will we?"

"People are going to die tonight. I just hope it's the Novas."

Coda exited left, Obi-Wan right. Julian walked double-time to catch up with the Jedi. He was almost breathless, not from strain but anxiety. "General, I need to speak with you..."

Obi-Wan waved him off. "Later, Doctor."

* * *

Prior to the outbreak, Landon brokered a deal between Neecho and the Novas. His contact, Tratton, found humor in violence. He smiled through every murder, like a cat plays with a bird it does not know is dead. Landon didn't trust anyone whose conscience didn't haunt him.

Lighting split the sky open, and a hard rain fell. Quinn and Aayla carried the crate of sabers.

The reptile said, "I hope you know what you are doing."

"I'm as eager as you to find out," Obi-Wan answered.

The street lights were fitful, shaking in their stanchions from the punishing rain. Rotting garbage filled the alleys they slunk through silently.

In an empty part of downtown, fifteen shadows gathered by a warehouse. Lightning flashed overhead, placing the men in unwanted relief.

"Hello there," Obi-Wan said.

Tratton peeled back the hood of his jacket. His face and neck were a canvass of scar tissue. One eye was prosthetic, beneath melted brow, its red center expanding as it magnified Obi-Wan.

"Lightsabers: pretty rare," said Tratton. "I wonder where you got them."

In a rare abuse of the Force, Obi-Wan scanned his mind. Tratton had no suspicions, nor did he even regard seriously his mystery seller. His thoughts were wholly devoted to the specter of the Sentinel. It loomed as children fear monsters are imagined into being.

Obi-Wan signaled for Quinn to unlatch the crate. The polished chrome of the sabers gleamed in the rain.

Tratton turned to his lieutenant. "Bexley, put it on the truck. I don't wanna be here when—" Tratton's head erupted into a fine red mist. Half his skull was vaporized. Brains spilled from the maw onto his boots.

Bexley's heart stopped. He fumbled for his blaster. His hand was severed before he saw anything. Then three metal claws jammed in his belly.

The cloaked man who brought death stared down the others. Beneath his hood was a white mask in the likeness of a skull. He discarded his blaster. A second set of claws deployed from his other glove.

Aayla reached for her saber, but Obi-Wan stopped her.

The Novas began an immediate retreat. They fired clumsily behind them as the Sentinel followed. Defying all reason, none of their shots hit true. Bolt after bolt seemed to bend and change course, bracketing the Sentinel but never harming him.

The Sentinel's cloak fell away, revealing a black bodysuit with various weapons. He lobbed a concussion grenade at the fleeing criminals. The resulting wave scattered the Novas. They slammed on the pavement, breaking noses and ribs.

The Sentinel approached a bloody man, who grasped at his leg, trying to get up. He allowed the attempt until the man reached his knees. He thrust his claws through his head temple to temple.

"Please!" cried another. "I'll give you anything—!" A scream died in his throat, then a geyser of blood.

Three Novas grabbed blasters. They never raised them. Their heads snapped in tandem as three thrown daggers lodged in their skulls.

The Sentinel took up a rifle, gunning everyone down until one Nova lived. Tears streamed down the face of the grizzled gangster. "I have a family!" mewled the Nova. "They need—!" His eyes bulged and went vacant with a flick of the wrist.

"—a fresh start," the Sentinel finished. Hard rain restored his claws to their bloodless shine. They retracted into his gloves.

The Sentinel turned to face Obi-Wan, who stood patiently waiting. So unnervingly slow did the Sentinel move that you couldn't help but imagine a spirit in the mask.

Obi-Wan didn't know the black figure's intentions. Futile were attempts to inspect his mind. Where his signature should have been, there was an inky void where the Force couldn't go. Somehow he was separate from the tapestry of life.

At Obi-Wan's telekinetic will, eight lightsabers flew from the crate, igniting to form a wall that halted the Sentinel. "That spot should do nicely," Obi-Wan said.

The black figure waved a hand, and the sabers disengaged, clattering in a pile all around his feet. Obi-Wan was startled by the Force demonstration.

"This puppet has no strings," came a mechanized voice. "If you seek something from me, you will ask me as a man... Master Obi-Wan Kenobi..."

Obi-Wan chilled at the Sentinel's recognition. This time when Aayla drew her saber, he didn't stop her. It crackled into being like lighting and thunder.

"Then you will _answer me_ as a man," Obi-Wan said. "Are your loyalties to innocents—or merely to yourself?"

"The _arrogance_ ," replied the Sentinel. "Ask yourself the question. The Jedi Council is an oligarchy, molding the galaxy so it matches their vision. Your morals are twisted. The ancient Jedi would condemn this Order of decay."

Obi-Wan said, "Not everyone has the luxury of playing nihilist."

"Not everyone is proud enough to pretend to be heroes."

"I'm no hero," said the Jedi, "but I do have a mission. And you're going to help me. Not because you respect me, but because you can't stand to be out of the action. So I ask you, _as a man_ : where is the Memory Master?"


	30. My Game is Deeper

Raindrops sizzled on Aayla's saber, finally drawing the Sentinel’s attention. He flicked two fingers and it deactivated, causing Aayla to gasp.

"Don't point that at me," said the mechanized voice. "It's exceedingly rude." With Force-assisted hearing, everyone registered sirens in the distance. The Sentinel called his cloak from the pile of corpses, placing it on his shoulders. He said, "That will be the constable. We'll continue this elsewhere."

* * *

Only Padme and Coda joined Obi-Wan in the cargo hold. He reclined in his chair, but inside he was coiled, ready to meet any threat from the Sentinel.

The black figure remained still. He'd shown very rare power in dispatching the Novas. A power, Obi-Wan feared, that exceeded his own.

"You're trained in the Force," Obi-Wan said. "Are you Jedi—or Sith?"

The Sentinel's vocoder garbled his sneer. "What a childish question. Would a Jedi kill as I do? Would a Sith protect innocents? Your dogma creates what it prophesies: a war between light and dark. And you conscript us all to battle."

"A battle I will win," Obi-Wan said.

"You speak like Adi Gallia." The name froze in the air, bewildering Obi-Wan. It was Gallia's vacant seat that he took on the Council. The Sentinel added with scorn, "My illustrious master."

He tapped his mask. It folded in on itself, unveiling the man beneath. His chiseled face was devoid of emotion. An arcane nose, between empty blue eyes, was slightly crooked from an unaddressed break. His cutting stare dared recognition.

"Brummel..." Obi-Wan whispered.

Brummel Carde: Gallia's protege. He was no longer the padawan she'd lovingly guided. His moral core was a maw, starkly contrasting the boy she'd lauded.

"Gallia—where—?"

"The Red Death took her," Brummel said easily. "You can hold your condolences. That was a lifetime ago."

Padme cut to the heart of things: "You were trapped by the quarantine. What were you doing here?"

"Too many worlds were defecting to the Sith. It terrified Windu. He sent us to monitor planets that were likely to change sides." His eyes darkened, and he added, "Mareth was ripe, given your crusade."

She flinched at the inference, arms pulled to her sides.

Coda asked, "Are you the only one left?"

His breath caught like he was only now aware of her. He swiveled his head with a haunted stare. "I'm alone," Brummel said.

"Not anymore," Obi-Wan countered.

"I don't care about your war. Win it yourself."

"The war _will_ come here," Obi-Wan warned. "You'll be dead or a slave."

"I'll see it's the former. That suits me just fine."

Padme's patience was breaking. She was two seconds from blasting that look off his face. "Who do you think you are? The last man with honor? You're a common killer."

Brummel chuckled sardonically. "Oh, I have no honor. I'm thoroughly despicable. When I close my eyes, I hear more screams than you can possibly imagine." He snarled at her judgment. "Do you ever look in your own soul, Senator Amidala?"

Coda preempted Padme, her gentle brogue salving the tension: "Sir," she murmured, like a mom sings lullabies, "please just hear them out."

The Sentinel blinked, demeanor unchanged. But he sauntered from the corner to the center of the room, so that faint light hit his face where there'd only been shadows.

Obi-Wan was right about one thing: he didn't like being out of the action.

* * *

Padme removed her glimmering blouse. In light of her terrible reputation, standing out was a problem. So she searched for a plain top.

"Padme—"

She whirled to find Obi-Wan standing in the doorway. His breath had left him. His mouth slightly parted. His eyes were fixed on her floral bra, sparkling with gems, and on the pale plain of her stomach exposed to the air. Blood rushed to his face and to other places.

It took everything in Padme not to shake with excitement. Suddenly Obi-Wan's appreciation made her feel bold. "Can I help you, Master Jedi?"

His hypnosis broke. Mortified, he turned away. "I apologize. I shouldn't have entered without asking."

"It's only a problem if you didn't like it," Padme found herself saying. Wait—where did that come from? Her cheeks pinked with embarrassment.

A jumble of thoughts warred within Obi-Wan. They were overlayed on the image of Padme undressed. Her perfect proportions, her impossible smoothness. "It wasn't unpleasing," he admitted.

Padme's belly fluttered. What was she doing? Girlish adrenaline was forced down for decorum. She grabbed her shirt, pulled it over her head. "It's my fault," she said mildly. "I should have locked the door."

Obi-Wan turned to face her. He put her glorious image out of his mind. "I checked the database," he went on to his point. "Brummel was reported MIA ten years ago, along with Adi Gallia." He watched her reaction but gleaned nothing from it. "About what he said..."

Padme remembered (barely) getting word of the quarantine. And how swiftly she had moved to other business of the day. It was suddenly troubling how little it burdened her. "I made the right decision," she said more to herself than him. "But he watched his master die. And 600 million others. He's allowed to hate me."

"You are thoroughly unhateable," Obi-Wan said.

Padme cracked a smile. "You keep thinking that, Obi-Wan.”

He met her expression, before turning to the door. He was halfway through the threshold when Padme's voice stopped him. "The Force is with us?"

Obi-Wan grinned. "Always."

* * *

Brummel's worry-lined face completely enthralled her. Looking away proved futile. Perhaps it was pitiful: Coda's reverence. But her exaltation did not embarrass her.

Brummel burned, and froze, and killed. He was reaper of the souls who'd themselves reaped souls, and his own was wounded so others needn't be. This was the beauty of the lonely Sentinel.

She didn't know why he changed his mind. Why he was helping Obi-Wan. She wished to credit herself, but this was likely delusion.

The Memory Master's facility was beneath an old factory. Behind a holographic wall was an elevator leading down.

Obi-Wan's ears popped as they descended. "You're doing the right thing."

Brummel said, "Your faith is unshakable. I think I envy it."

"Faith grows in the company of others."

"It dies there also."

Empathy squeezed Coda's throat so her words were said softly: "Two hearts broken heal faster together."

"Some wounds are forever," the Sentinel said.

The elevator doors parted with a whoosh.

A narrow corridor led to the facility. Obi-Wan noted the lights, made to approximate sun. Ahead were glass doors marking entrance to a lab. The sound of machines—along with a voice—carried to the corridor.

Obi-Wan's trepidation was smashed by his urgency. He entered the laboratory—inconceivably sprawling, and he assumed one of many. Waiting to greet him was a Kelbrian male.

Little was known of this mysterious species. But his visage was striking. He had veiny tentacles like a Twi'lek's, but they were short and hairy. Two bony ridges bracketed his eyes. He had small, thin ears, barely distinguished from surrounding flesh. Limitless warmth sluiced from his eyes.

"Hello, Doctor," Brummel said.

The Memory Master happily gasped, "Oh! Greetings and salutations! I wasn't expecting you again. And you brought company!"

Obi-Wan said, "We're sorry to intrude."

"Nonsense! Please—join me," grinned the Master. Obi-Wan traded looks with Padme. The strange man addressed Coda: "It's good to see you again, Miss Prosper."

"We've never met."

His smile wavered. "Perhaps I'm remembering seeing you on the news."

The lab was a spooky simulacrum of a Sith facility. Dozens of computers—old but refitted—were set to monitor sundry experiments. Tables filled the lab for surgery or dissection.

Obi-Wan peered into a tank at a heaving aquatic. Electrodes were fixed all over its body. The Master proudly explained, "It's a Burokian eel. I have a theory their toxins promote memory retention."

He turned to face Padme. "I presume you know who I am. Or at least _what I do_. I used to have a name. But I so rarely see people, I decided to give it up."

His jocund tone aroused her to anger. "I didn't think you were real," Padme remembered. "I didn't think one man could create this evil."

The Master squinted from hurt. He cleared his throat and consciously relaxed it. "Evil?"

"What else do you call a system that strips people's identity?"

His cheeks hollowed and his voice was low. "Every system—including the Republic's—takes something irreplaceable. Every moment you earn a credit is precious time lost to your family. My _evil_ system has kept peace for two centuries. How's yours doing?"

Padme winced again. Everyone in the galaxy seemed to know where to hit her.

The warm glow returned to the Kelbrian's face. "I'm sure you didn't come here for a lively debate..."

"I need your help with a tracker," Brummel said.

"Another Black Nova?"

"An archaeologist: Logan Brace."

"And your friends here...?" Brummel stared at him. The Master sighed, "Very well, young man. But you are going to owe me one." He moved to a console and entered the search. In moments, he exclaimed, "Ah-ha! Logan Brace. Your man in the flesh."

Brummel studied the GPS. The lines marking the location weren't solid but dotted. "That's outside the city. They just started construction there."

"It's certainly discrete," Padme stated.

Coda snapped her fingers at Obi-Wan. "Okay, Jedi. We know where he is. Do Jedi things."

Time, indeed, was of the essence. Obi-Wan threw a quick look at the Kelbrian scientist. "Thank you."

"The pleasure's entirely mine. Good luck—with—whatever you're doing."

The Master tracked their footfalls from the lab to the elevator. Soon he heard the lift ascend and then vanish. He wished they'd stayed longer. He found Obi-Wan intriguing.

A door behind him slid open. "Were you listening, General?"

The Young General snarled, cinching his cloak. The black rimming his eyes was darker than ink. His back was hunched and his stance weakly. Yet from his frailty came some dark power.

"Call me by my real name," the General demanded.

"Forgive me... Emperor Sidious."

_"Where is he?" Wrath demanded._

_Demic said, "He knows he can't escape. He's prepared to fight us."_

_"He's prepared to fight_ me _," Vader corrected, before tapping his comlink: "General Grievous, report your status."_

_A voice crackled back: "The bridge is secure. The Invisible Hand was destroyed. Several vessels are attempting to dock."_

_"Hold them off as long as you can. I have to find Sidious."_

_After a pause, the droid-man said: "Deck 15: one life sign registered."_

_"You have served me well, Grievous. I will remember it," Vader said._

_The hanger doors closed. Their voices disappeared. The Young General counted to thirty, before rising from the floor inside Sidious' escape vessel. Where was the emperor?_ _Everything was ready. Engines were go and stealth armor was active.  
_

_The Young General jerked back as a hologram appeared. It was Emperor Sidious, shimmering blue-black like an oil-filled ocean.  
_

" _General," said the hologram—clearly a recording, "if you are receiving this message, it means I'm soon to be dead. My contingency plan relies on you. Travel to the planet Mareth. I've provided you coordinates to a scientist's laboratory. He will know what to do." Sidious lifted his hood, wearing a fatherly smile that was nearly in his eyes. "I need you, son."_

_The General sank in his chair, completely befuddled. The emperor's request didn't make sense. But one thing was clear: if he didn't leave now, he would surely die. Vader knew he was favored by Sidious.  
_

_His jaw tightened. He took the controls._

_There was only one path. It led to Mareth._

* * *

_The stealth armor of his vessel allowed him to land near the city without being seen._

_Entering Cuimhn was simple. He swiped a guard's pass key to access the patrol tower. From there, it was easy to sneak through.  
_

_He followed Sidious' coordinates to an old factory. Behind a holographic wall, he found an elevator leading down to the facility._

_Standing in the laboratory was a happy Kelbrian. The General frowned at his lack of reaction: "I'm here on behalf of Emperor Sidious."_

" _Of course you are!" The Master bellowed._

" _What is this place?"_

" _It's where I invented memory transfer," said the wistful scientist. "But that was a long time ago. As you might imagine, I've had many more breakthroughs."_

_He walked through a side door and the General followed. Another lab: this one smaller. A young woman lay comatose in a hospital bed. Tubes and wires connected her to various machines. The General recognized the beep of a respirator._

_“This is Emily," the Master said with a hint of sadness. "She was my favorite receptacle. It was, truthfully, difficult to assign her this fate."_

" _What fate?" the General demanded._

_The Master fussed with her hair, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Emperor Sidious asked me to make a **complete** copy of **all** of his memories. I said it was impossible." He gave a god-like grin, marveling at himself. "Eventually, of course, I unlocked the secret. I made it real."_

_The Master showed him a scan—presumably Emily's—revealing brain activity where there should be none. "Every day for twelve years, the emperor's brain has transmitted a complete map of his synaptic pathways... to be stored by sweet Emily."_

_The Young General blanched. "Are you saying you 'backed up' the emperor's brain?"_

" _Essentially, yes."_

_He staggered to the wall. The contents of the General's stomach threatened a return trip. Sidious—alive. Alive yet not. His emperor lived, and his emperor was dead. "So, what—you'll wake her up now? She'll **be** Darth Sidious?"_

" _No, Emily's brain was a caretaker. A temporary stop. The emperor's memories must be transferred into a conscious person."_

_“Me," the General whispered._

_“You'll keep your own memories," the Master assured him. "His will simply be added."_

_The General shut his eyes. He wasn't sure what scared him more: accepting Vader as emperor or giving himself to Sidious. Only one of those choices would allow him to live. But it wouldn't be the life he knew right now. "Will I still be me... or will I be him?"_

_“Perhaps both. Maybe neither. I leave that to your god."_

_A cold feeling of inevitability rolled through the General's limbs. He swallowed, nodded, and turned his head at Emily. "For the empire."_

* * *

_It's like standing at a cliff edge, looking down at a dark valley, and having sold your soul to it. The moment of collection should come when you're old. When nothing remains, and you're a burden to others instead of commanding them. But it's not always so._

_Behind you is blackness, the dragon who authored it. Dreadful talons fall on your shoulders. And a voice like dying fire whispers in your ear, "You have served your purpose. And it's a glorious purpose."_

_“I know," you tell the dragon.  
_

_The dragon screams and you're falling. Falling, falling, falling. No matter how far you fall—forever will the dragon scream scream scream.  
_

_The Young General was relegated to a corner of his own mind, never to voice a thought again. He'd never know what his sacrifice achieved, how it changed irrevocably the course of the galaxy. Because for the Young General's soul, there was quiet, and dark, and nothing else._

"Are you going to warn them?" The Master asked.

Sidious studied his reflection with a mingy smile. Perhaps now he could take a woman without her secretly weeping. "No," he told The Master.

"Why?"

"Because I do not trust them with the secret of my... rebirth. Maul would kill me to win favor with Vader. It is the way of the Sith." He'd gravely misjudged Vader's ambition. A mistake he'd redress. He purred icily, "I leave Maul and Kenobi to decide the better man. My game is deeper."

* * *

He felt the saber in his knee. Bone and sinew disintegrated by its burning plasma. Logan's screams rebounded from the walls, becoming hysterical laughter. Blood gushed from a gash on his head. Half his teeth lay around him.

"There are three layers of skin in the human body," said Darth Maul. "I'll expose them all, one by one..."

Logan forced a bloody smile. "Good—tell me what's underneath," he slurred. "I've always wondered..."

"What do you think you're protecting—or whom? Is it worth this pain?" The design of cognators was highly inconvenient. A memory could not be harvested without its owner's consent. Maul's only hope was to break him.

"Kill him," Coleman Trebor demanded. "We'll find another way."

"You will learn patience," Maul replied. "Everyone has a breaking point. That his is impressive means nothing."

Logan spit a loose tooth in the Zabrak's face. The dark lord smiled, raising his saber. "The first layer is the epidermis. In light of your constitution, we'll move straight to the second..."

* * *

Few people knew of the tunnels beneath Cuimhn. Relics of an old government, they appeared highly unstable, and the foulness of the air reinforced their archaism. Skeletons lay about, filling tattered clothes, pre-blaster technology scattered around. Mice skittered by their feet, squealing obnoxiously.

Obi-Wan couldn't know the strength of the Sith force. That's why he ordered "all hands on deck." The entire crew was with him in the tunnels.

Julian watched Aayla out of the corner of his eye.

She growled, "What do you want?"

"Making sure you're all right," Julian said.

"I'm fine."

"I don't see how you could be. I'm certainly not."

"You are not a Jedi." She said this easily, but it held no meaning. Julian understood now who the Jedi were: condemned souls, trying simply to die before the dark overwhelmed them.

"Quite right," said the doctor.

Palmer and Quinn were walking with Obi-Wan.

"I hope you're ready," said Palmer, "because you weren't on Halm. Vader had you at his mercy. You're lucky to be alive."

Obi-Wan rankled, "Your bleakness is getting old."

An acerbic laugh answered the charge. "One should be what they are. Surely you realize I'm alive for a reason."

"Indeed," Quinn grunted. "You deserted your brothers."

"'Brothers,'" mocked Palmer. "I never had _brothers_ ; I had _obligations_. You know what those are? A weight on your neck."

"Then why are you here?" Obi-Wan demanded.

"Because I value being free. I won't live in a galaxy run by Sidious." For once, Obi-Wan believed him, _agreed_ even. He dreamt of living decades with Padme, fearing not a heavy hand would disrupt his happiness.

Brummel led them through the tunnels. Coda was determined to disrupt his sullenness: "So... you come here a lot?"

"You're very talkative," Brummel said.

"And you quiet. Somewhere between the two of us, there lies a normal person." Her megawatt smile drove away his gaze. She removed it to soothe him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"If you must."

"You _really_ dislike Obi-Wan. What'd he do? Seems nice enough to me."

Coda glimpsed the tribulation behind Brummel's eyes. The Sentinel said, "He serves a religion that's about to be extinct. And he refuses to see it."

Padme watched them discreetly. There was more to Brummel's acridity than she yet understood. Obi-Wan barely remembered him, but somehow the vigilante believed they had history. She didn't like not knowing. And she didn't like the way Coda seemed to hang on his words.

"I still think he's nice," Coda said brightly.

* * *

The wind rifled his cloak as he squatted on the ridge. Obi-Wan glassed the construction site through his binoculars. Latticed metal made the frame of an eighty-story tower. Temporary grate served as floors. Neither interior nor exterior walls were in place.

He turned to ground-level, increased magnification. In the eerie red glow of a double-bladed saber, six figures surrounded a mutilated man. The night was too black to make out more.

He gave Padme his binoculars. "Right where he told us."

She asked, "Can we handle six of them?"

"If we all play our part. But Logan's right in the middle. We'll have to get him clear."

Brummel brushed past Coda, who deemed it comfort. He placed his thumb at the center of his belt. "I'll handle that part," and he shimmered to nothingness—before quickly reappearing.

"A cloaking device," Obi-Wan marveled.

"I was in the engineering corps. It comes in handy."

Obi-Wan turned to his crew. The Jedi were ready, while Padme and Julian looked unnatural holding guns. Coda gripped hers like a filthy rag. These weren't soldiers. But tonight they had to be.

He spoke slowly for emphasis: "We need him. This _cannot_ go wrong."

Landon said, "I got your back, boss. We'll get it done."

Aayla clenched her teeth, unseen by Obi-Wan. He pulled lightly on his beard, saying, "We need a—"

"Wait for my cue," Brummel said before vanishing.

"—plan."

* * *

His override sequence breached the lock as planned. The ramp retracted, allowing him entry. Sidious ascended into the Dawn Tangent.

The Nabooan interior was instantly familiar. Before leaving the Republic, he'd ridden ships of this model between home and Coruscant. "Home." Such a frivolous word.

Sidious strolled the corridor to the main computer room. R2-D2 whirled with a scream. A metal flap opened. An appendage sprang out. Electricity gathered, ready to blast.

"Diagnostic mode," Sidious said. The appendage receded. The metal flap closed. R2's red eye began to glow green.

Sidious cackled at the docile droid. "It is good to see you... my little saboteur."


	31. I'm a Ghost Already

"I apologize for my lack of updates," R2 beeped. "The planetary shield blocks communications."

Sidious grinned at his contrition. "I am aware that General Kenobi pursues Logan Brace. Tell me about the crew. What developments there?"

"I discovered the truth of what happened on Axxila. Solo's pressure suit had a recorder." R2 projected a first-person hologram from Landon's perspective.

_"Landon! You're killing me! Open the door! Open the bloody door!"_

_"I'm sorry," choked Landon._

_"Don't do this!" cried Miler._

_"There's only one tank. We'll never make it together."_

_"We can make it! I promise! We'll bloody make it, mate!"_

_"I can't take the chance."_

_"You son of a bitch! I will haunt you forever! Every moment, ya bloody—"_

_Blood sprayed on the window, misted in smoke. Miler's body dropped and vanished._

Sidious cackled at his fortune. It was exactly what he needed. The thread he would pull to unravel everything. He knew Aayla and the pilot had been ensconced in an affair. "Has anyone seen this?"

"No. I destroyed the recorder after extraction."

"Load it on a data chip," Sidious said. As R2 began the process, the dark lord went on: "Your service is not over. I have further instructions..."

* * *

Logan's arm was exposed down to the subcutis. Maul cauterized the wound to prevent him bleeding out. Logan babbled defiantly: "D—do—what—ever—you—don—don't—c—care..."

Maul pressed a gloved thumb against Logan's ruined arm. Logan screamed and screamed until he blacked out.

Maul turned to Asaaj Ventress. "Get me the stimulants. I'll wake—" His feet went out from under him, and he slammed on his back.

Logan's hands were unbound and he was pulled from the chair. By what or whom was unknown. _A cloak_ , Maul realized. He performed a kip-up, engaging his saber. But already Logan was thirty feet away.

Maul thrust out his palm, intending a Force-pull. But a steel beam exploded, throwing the six Sith across the floor. Maul touched his face. His glove came away bloody. Little pieces of steel were buried in his cheek.

Landon, Padme, and Coda fired blasters from cover. Before Maul could react, four Jedi leapt down from a scaffold.

Quinn swung his blade at a prone Trebor. The Sith rolled to avoid it, springing to his feet. Green met red, the beginning of a dance.

Darth Klasto attacked Quinn from behind. Palmer intercepted, driving him away.

Savage Oppress battled Aayla, shocked by her aggression. Rage made itself known on her grimacing face.

Outside, Brummel dumped Logan on the ground. Julian was there with his medical kit.

Brummel raced back to the fight, finding Obi-Wan cornered. He lured away Ventress and Sifo-Dyus. His left claws were deployed. His right hand drew a saber.

Dyus charged. Brummel's blood-orange blade cut into his skull. A flip of the wrist slashed through his spinal column.

Ventress leapt over top, attacking from behind. Brummel blocked with his claws. She pressed the attack, and he pedaled backward.

Now alone against Obi-Wan, Maul flashed a jagged smile. "Your head will be the perfect addition to my wall. I know just where I'll put it: next to Siri Tachi."

The Force easily imbibed Obi-Wan's anger. " _My_ back is not turned. Let's see how you do facing your enemy."

Maul raised his saber in a seething salute.

He spun into a slash. Obi-Wan deflected. Maul kicked the Jedi's arm and swiped at his legs. Obi-Wan jumped to avoid it. He blocked the next blow mid-air, booting Maul's face before landing.

Maul licked his bloody lip. Obi-Wan preempted vengeance with a stab at his chest. The Sith parried, pushed his own riposte. Obi-Wan spun to avoid it. They hit back-to-back before turning to face each other.

Their palms thrust out in a simultaneous Force-push. Pressure and energy gathered between them. Obi-Wan screwed up his face. Maul's hand trembled.

The energy exploded, throwing them on their backs. They slid ten feet in opposite directions. But in the blink of an eye, both men were back standing. They sprinted to meet—red against blue.

Brummel hacked, slashed at Ventress with his claws. Even wielding two blades, she barely withstood it, focusing on his strikes to the exclusion of all else.

Brummel reached through the Force to pick up a chair. It hurtled through the air, struck Ventress from behind.

The Sith fell forward—impaling herself on Brummel's blade. Her eyes widened. She smelled her own organs like very charred meat.

"You look good in orange," Brummel sneered. He twisted the blade, and Ventress gasped before dying.

Coda knelt beside Logan. Tears poured down her face. "Why didn't you just tell them?" she whispered through her hand.

"Give me some room," Julian said.

Quinn lay recovering from a lightning attack. That left Palmer cornered.

Klasto jabbed at his spine. Palmer back-flipped, blocking Trebor as he landed. Ducking Trebor's next strike, he slashed upward at Klasto, searing his arm elbow to shoulder. The enraged Klasto threw a punch—catching Palmer in the jaw. It dropped him to a knee.

Klasto swung at his head. Palmer Force-pushed him so the Sith caught air.

Trebor charged at him. The last thing he saw was Palmer grinning.

Trebor silently screamed. He gargled blood. Splintered chair wood was jammed in his throat. His corpse swayed before neatly collapsing.

Up on a scaffold, Oppress battled Aayla. The Zabrak drove a thrust as he pivoted in the air. Aayla dodged and deflected. She slashed at his back. He blocked blindly behind him. She kicked his kneecap—but Oppress didn't fall. Their sabers stayed locked as he whirled to face her.

"I feel your hate," Oppress snarled. "Will you use it, little girl?"

Aayla's eyes burned. He laughed inside. She didn't even know she was Sith already.

Aayla dropped into an ankle-sweep. Oppress fell on his back. He turned his shoulder so her blade just missed. Sparks flew in his face from the metal grate. He was blinded temporarily. But Aayla's killing blow was stymied by a sudden Force-throw. She struck a steel beam and landed on her side.

Maul delivered a Force-infused punch. It launched Obi-Wan backward, blood spraying in the air. He used the Force to slow down, landing cat-footed.

Obi-Wan looked up. Maul stood directly beneath the arm of a crane. Obi-Wan thrust his hand down. The crane cable unspooled. The hook on its end came plunging at Maul.

The dark lord gasped. With no time to spare, he caught it with the Force and directed it at Obi-Wan. The Jedi leapt clear, slicing the cable while he hung in the air. The huge hunk of metal thudded on the ground.

Maul's patience expired. He needed higher ground. He sprinted to a ladder and leapt to a rung. But Obi-Wan cleaved it so the ladder fell like a drawbridge.

Maul rode it momentarily, before flipping to attack. Obi-Wan blocked, landed a forearm. He followed with a flying kick. Maul fell into a back-roll. Before he could stand, Obi-Wan's boot shattered his nose.

Standing above him, Obi-Wan threw down a hammer. Maul tried to block—but Obi-Wan's plasma cut through his hilt. Maul's saber was reduced to a single blade.

He hooked Obi-Wan's heel, tripping him down. There was a moment's opening. The dark lord seized it.

Obi-Wan screamed as blue chains of lightning enveloped his body. He felt, smelled his arms being cooked. Terrible pain. _Unbearable pain_. Worse than death, throughout his whole body.

" **Obi-Wan**!" Padme's heart hammered in her chest. She ran carelessly from cover, unloaded her blaster. Maul easily caught her bolts, throwing them back at her. Padme dove from their path, slamming on the ground.

Maul whirled in time to counter Obi-Wan's strike. He pedaled back against rapid blue streaks. The Sith vowed to gut Padme for wasting his opening.

Quinn and Palmer flanked Klasto. There was nowhere to go. No play to make. Defying the inevitable, Klasto kicked at Palmer while stabbing at Quinn. Palmer caught his foot; Quinn lopped off his head.

Up on the scaffold, Aayla's blade was a blur. It left no opening for Oppress' Force lightning. He pedaled back to the scaffold's edge. Ducking a swing, he reversed their positions. In the corner of his eye, he saw the battle below. Only Maul still lived, completely surrounded. His mission from Sidious hung by a thread.

Oppress blasted her chin with the hilt of his saber. He back-flipped from the scaffold to the ground down below. He rushed out of the building frame to find Logan being treated.

Julian gasped as a boot found purchase on his temple. Coda intervened—and was thrown to the ground. Oppress scooped up Logan and began climbing the building frame.

Maul faced down four Jedi enemies. The reality of the task outmatched his arrogance. He unleashed Force lightning. Everyone but Quinn was able to block it. The reptilian Jedi fell writhing to the ground.

The Sith retreated outside. Landon grabbed him from behind. Maul bashed him with an elbow. The scoundrel crumpled as Maul scaled the building.

Padme fired as he climbed, but he easily deflected.

Obi-Wan, Palmer, and Brummel appeared at her side. Aayla followed momentarily. Obi-Wan barked: "Aayla—Palmer—go get Logan. We'll handle Maul."

"Be careful," said Padme.

"The Force is with us," he assured her.

On the roof, Maul eagerly received Obi-Wan and Brummel. The dark lord skimmed his saber along the grate, throwing sparks in darkness. He grinned at Obi-Wan's badly burned arms.

"Perhaps your queen will play nurse," Maul taunted.

"She'll be your coroner, Sith." Obi-Wan looked about for advantages. There were none to speak of. The entire roof was open to the air. "Let's pretend to be allies," he told Brummel.

"I was about to say that."

Maul tried a Force-pull; both men blocked. Then his torrent of lighting was caught by their sabers.

Brummel said, "You're not exactly Darth Sidious."

Maul's beastly scream echoed in the night. He leapt in the air, spinning like a cyclone, and launched himself at Brummel. The Sentinel barely deflected with saber and claws.

Maul half-turned to block Obi-Wan. Brummel stabbed with his claws, catching air. Maul's boot was on his hand, driving it down. Brummel's claws became lodged in the grate. The dark lord flipped away from Obi-Wan's swing.

"Fifty points. Nicely done," said Obi-Wan.

" _This is not a_ _ **game**_!" Maul screamed in reply.

"Isn't it? Four pawns have been taken. Now their king is panicked."

Maul rushed at the Jedi. His eyes blazed yellow as he rained blow after blow on a backpedaling Obi-Wan. Every moment of pain from birth until now powered his frenzy. But every thrust and coulé was calmly countered.

Maul forced Obi-Wan to the roof edge. He reared back for a swing—but Obi-Wan dropped, sliding through his legs.

Maul whipped around to find Brummel. Blinding pain exploded through his middle. He looked down at a glowing line from one hip to the other.

His eyes widened in awe. The dark lord coughed. Maul used the Force to keep the feet he couldn't feel planted on the ground.

Brummel asked, "Any message for Sidious? I'll pass it along."

Maul's whispered rasp was barely heard: "I have nothing to say to you."

Brummel kicked him in the chest. Maul's torso detached and tumbled from the roof. His whispered scream was lost in the night as he plummeted into darkness.

"How 'bout 'goodbye?'" Brummel said.

* * *

"Let him go!" Aayla growled.

Oppress controlled Logan with an arm around his throat. His saber hilt, pressed to Logan's temple, implied death if she advanced.

Palmer said, "There's nowhere to go, except down."

Oppress acknowledged his feet flirting with the roof edge. "I would take your prize with me."

Aayla charged, "Only cowards need a hostage."

"Foolish girl. The Jedi Way on your tongue, Sith fury inside you. The schism will kill you, if you refuse its reckoning."

Aayla did not deny it, for she was finally understanding the frothing cauldron in her chest, that had boiled the remnants of her patchwork heart. She said, "How could it kill me? I'm a ghost already."

Oppress wistfully mused, "I only wish I was the author of your pain. Perhaps then you'd take action, you cowed little girl."

Palmer watched bemusedly the inevitable result of Aayla's castigation. The boiled wrath in the cauldron could not be repressed; it melted its container, poured through the Force.

A blue smear of a Twi'lek undid Oppress. The Sith's head was halved. Smoke spiraled from the skull, and from the bisected brain that hatched evil schemes. The knees of Oppress buckled, and his corpse fell from the roof, Logan still trapped in his now-lax arm.

* * *

Obi-Wan leapt from an unsafe height, rushing to meet his crew. Their bowed heads and their silence provided presentiment. He skidded to a halt at Logan's remains.

Blood-soaked gobbets of organ and flesh were splattered on the ground. Shattered bones pierced his crushed body like animal fossils fashioned into columns. Life's flame was extinguished from his bulging eyes.

"Good God," Landon mumbled.

Julian hadn't moved. There was nothing to be done. He searched Aayla's face for a flicker of _something_. "What happened up there?"

"I failed."

"Yes, magnificently," Quinn said.

Coda knelt in the mess of her fallen friend. Her knees, skirt were the color of his guts. Her hand hovered by his head, but she wouldn't touch him. It prevented the reality from hardening to a caste.

Obi-Wan remained where he was. Entering the worst of it would feel like defilement. "Coda..." he whispered.

She didn't acknowledge him, and he couldn't muster the platitude delivered hundreds of times.

Obi-Wan startled when Padme took his hands. He tracked her gaze to his arms. Her trembling fingers grazed the black skin. "Obi-Wan..." she breathed.

"I'm all right."

Landon said, "Boss, you look like a fire pit. Let Doc take a look."

Julian was already treating Quinn. This left Obi-Wan in Padme's care. She led him to a workbench, where he perched on the edge. For now, she could only wrap his wounds. He'd need Julian's infirmary for tissue repair.

From her field kit, she retrieved gauze and disinfectant. Padme held him by the wrists and sprayed along his arms.

"The Force was with you?" she grumbled.

"I didn't need it. You were there." She reached for the gauze, but he caught her hand. It slid up her arm, before correcting some hair’d fallen in her face. "I would have stopped him eventually. But at the cost of my roguish looks."

Padme chortled despite herself. She began rolling gauze over one of his arms. "Malice hit me with lightning, back on Halm. Yet I was spared these burns."

Obi-Wan explained, "Intensity can be amplified, or calibrated down. Vader gave orders you weren't to be harmed."

She didn't like the reminder of Vader's obsession. Padme addressed their greater concern: "Without Logan, we have nothing."

"We have—"

"—The Force," she rolled her eyes.

"I was going to say 'hope.' But please, continue to skewer me." The halfhearted jibe didn't match his face. He was looking at Coda, still kneeling in Logan's guts.

Padme said, "I believe in you. You'll find a way. You always do."

Aayla watched them in the corner of her eye. The shadow of resentment crossed her delicate face, detected only by Palmer. Their stomach-churning preciousness, undeserved, unearned, blithely enjoyed without thought of her anguish, pulled her with her pain toward an unthinkable horizon.

"I wonder what you'll do," Palmer told her, "with what little of you remains."


	32. I'll Never Dream Again

"Kenobi!"

He jumped down from the workbench. Padme's unfinished wrapping dangled from his arm. "What is it?" asked Obi-Wan.

Brummel lifted Logan's head, showing a red dot at the center of his eye. "He has an ocular implant. It records your entire life. If it's still intact, it'll have what you need."

Landon puzzled, "Why didn't the Sith just take his eye then?"

"Because they didn't know about implants. This isn't their world. You're lucky Maul's a blunt instrument. Someone smarter would've learned."

Obi-Wan abhorred the idea of plundering a corpse. But there was much at stake. "We'll take it to the Tangent. See what R2 can do."

"That won't work," said Brummel. "There's a built-in destruct mechanism. Only authorized memory seekers can access video."

Padme interjected, "You don't need a memory _seeker_ , when you know the Memory _Master_."

The beginnings of a smile tugged Obi-Wan's lips, before he glimpsed Coda. Her skirt was soaked red. Gobbets of liver covered her knees. Obi-Wan winced at his failing compassion.

He said too sharply, "I'm sorry, Coda. This isn't what I wanted."

"But it _is_ what follows you," Brummel said.

Obi-Wan forced a breath into his tight chest. "It will follow us all, until we destroy the Sith."

* * *

Julian knew nothing of Light and Dark, the strange web of energies that directed Jedi inexplicably. But he had seen vengeance. He once watched a surgeon let a pilot bleed out over personal grievance. He'd seen POWs gunned down for the most meager escape plan. There is a look in someone's eye when hatred takes command. And at a point unknown, there's no going back.

The repair rod hummed as it glided along his arm. Obi-Wan's black skin began to flake away, a fresh pink layer growing in its place. Soon only scars would hint at what happened.

"Is something wrong, Doctor?" Obi-Wan asked.

"That young woman just watched her friend die," Julian said.

"I wish it weren't so. But I can't change that."

"No. But you could have prevented it."

Obi-Wan grabbed his wrist. "What do you mean by that?"

Julian met his stare, before shaking him off to continue treatment. "I tried to talk to you about Aayla. But you couldn't be bothered."

"Well, in our present circumstances, I am your captive audience," came the hard-edged voice. "But I will not abide gossip. Speak very clearly."

Julian asked, "What happened on the roof?"

"Aayla made her move," said Obi-Wan, "but not quick enough to save him. Palmer told me the same thing."

"And you believed them? Palmer's a snake, and she's snake _bit_. Can you really not tell when a Jedi's falling?"

Obi-Wan's brows tightened. His stare devolved into blinking, now pointed at the wall. "I was worried after Axxila. I knew she and Miler were in love. But I had a talk with her..."

"And you thought you fixed her? With one conversation? What stunning hubris." Only one missed breath signaled Obi-Wan's hurt. Suddenly Julian remembered his station. The doctor's voice softened with empathy. "We're here to help you. But we can only do that if you listen."

Obi-Wan swallowed. "You have my undivided attention."

* * *

The man before him was broken, or perhaps he’d merely been stripped of his armor. He was neither self-indulgent nor brash. Sardonic wit could not be found. A great pain had built tunnels all through his inner self, and only echoes of a cry moved through the hollows.

Obi-Wan rested his chin on his fists. "I'm sorry about your son."

"Not as sorry as me," Landon said quietly. "I told myself by leaving him, I was giving him a chance. But the truth is, every boy's better off with a father. Even if he's trash. Even if he teaches his boy the wrong lessons."

Obi-Wan said, "I didn't know my father. There are pieces of my mother, but they're shrouded in mist. I suppose Master Yoda comes closest to a parent."

"Do you love him?"

"I call it something else to satisfy ethics."

"Right. 'No attachments,'" mused Landon. "It's funny: I'm no Jedi, but I had the same rule. The difference is: I learned to follow it—and you never did."

The Jedi leaned back in his chair, and to Landon his ruined posture made him look like a peer. Obi-Wan said, "It's never made me do wrong. But I've come very close. The dam may break yet."

Landon said, "That's why you're here, Boss. Because you're humble enough to believe you shouldn't be."

Obi-Wan grimaced. Too many people let him off the hook. He wished they understood what roiled inside him. But that was more than enough indulgence. He leaned forward again, in the posture of a Jedi. "You told Aayla what happened." A statement, not a question. "Julian said you were terrified. He said without his arrival, she might have killed you."

_Glass tubes began to shatter. The walls shook violently. Julian's instruments flew about the room. Her misery had become a telekinetic beast, threatening to rip the infirmary apart._

"We were only talking," said Landon. "The doctor's wrong."

* * *

Obi-Wan walked the corridor away from Landon's quarters. He was certain now that Julian was right. How many signs had he ignored? How close was he to losing her? His crew's lack of camaraderie had disturbed him since Coruscant. But this was different entirely.

"Bweeeep."

He met the droid halfway. "R2—have you isolated the signal?"

"Not yet, Master."

"What's taking so long?"

"Unknown. Perhaps the planetary shield is disrupting our sensors."

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. That seemed unlikely. "Well, keep at it. I don't intend to be caught unaware."

He carried on to Aayla's quarters, requesting entry with the door chime. His third attempt prompted a faint "come in."

He found the Twi'lek standing at her mirror, applying paint to her face. Streaks of red and black encircled her eyes, which were dull and lifeless.

"What are you doing?" asked Obi-Wan.

"It's tradition on Ryloth for a grieving widow."

Obi-Wan tracked her to a night stand, where she fingered Miler's rank pins. "Would you call yourself a widow?"

Aayla sealed the pins in her fist. There was neither fury on her face nor the clarity of peace. She was walking a tight rope that mystified Obi-Wan. "I feared, before, for my place in the Order. Now I know, my place was with him."

Her jaw tightened. "'No attachments, padawan. No love or sadness.' _Well, I'm not a vessel for the Council's will._ And deep down, you know you aren't either. Everyone sees you're in love with Padme Amidala. Your denial degrades you."

Obi-Wan flared his nostrils. His shoulders slanted. "Aayla, I am sorry for your loss. I truly am. But you have a duty. If you will not honor it," he growled, "I will lock you away. You can write your screed about the evils of the Jedi. I'll even send it to Sidious. But there will be _no mutiny_ on board the Dawn Tangent."

Aayla scoffed, "Do you think I mean to mutiny? You lock away friends while a saboteur schemes."

"Maybe she's in the room now."

"Then perhaps you should kill me. Don't take any chances, _Master_ Kenobi."

Her emphasis on his title cooled Obi-Wan's blood. He lowered his head, pinched his nose, before sweeping his hair back. Nothing felt right. He knew she was wrong, yet something lingered in the dark, pricking at his Current from beyond his reach.

Obi-Wan took a breath and let it out slowly. "I can't have you out there. Not like this. I did not kill Miler. Neither did Landon. I'm confining you to quarters, until you've come to understand that. You are only one in a galaxy of widows."

He thought her rage might comfort him, for at least he could predict it, but he gleaned no feeling from his dear old friend. She was starlight remnants, carried through time though the sun burned out.

Aayla asked, "Will you be so objective when Padme's buried?"

"We burn our dead. She would be no different."

* * *

He sat a distance, peering forward. Coda didn't mind a stare, up to a certain point, and in present company she found she missed it. Now more than ever, she needed to be _seen_.

"How many people have you killed?" she asked.

Brummel looked at her broodingly. "More than zero."

"I'm not afraid of you," Coda blurted out. "I have no doubts about your heart."

"Then you're very foolish."

"You did everything you could for Logan."

"Don't mistake that for virtue," Brummel warned her.

She wished she had the Force, to feel his Current, but she'd only her wiles. If they told her something foolish, she'd forgive them the error. She'd always had a predilection for honorable men. Brilliant thinkers, loving protectors, iron posts in a galaxy of melted morals. Logan Brace saved all creation by not breaking under torture.

She said, "Logan and me: we were very close, before my reset. I wish I could remember. Whoever I am now didn't know him the same way."

"You're fortunate," Brummel said.

Coda constricted her face so her freckles overlapped. "How's that?"

"This is the first bad thing that's ever happened to you."

"Maybe. But that's not how I want it. Without my memories, I'm not the 'real' Coda."

"The 'real' you is the one who exists." Some cosmic sadness shone beneath his facade. She wanted to know _why_.

The door retracted, and Obi-Wan appeared.

Brummel stood slowly, eyes locked with the Jedi. He waited a beat before moving to the door. His shoulder brushed Obi-Wan's, finding a mirror of his tautness, before he exited the room.

The Jedi unclenched when he and Coda were alone. But there was no smoothing out his worry-lined face. "I wished to say again I am truly sorry. For me: it is a setback. For you: a tragedy. I pray you know I grasp the distinction."

Coda ignored his amends. "You'll need my help with the recorder. I'll know what to look for." Whatever pain banked her heart, she kept it from squeezing. She was equal parts scared and enlightened. "This Mercy Seat: is it really an Architect weapon?" Receiving a nod, Coda swallowed. "Then I'm going to make my life count for something. You have a new crew member. Assuming you want me."

Obi-Wan's palm slowly extended. "Welcome to the Dawn Tangent."

* * *

Padme turned the corner, nearly colliding with Landon. He winced at her shriek.

"They should've built this thing straighter," Landon said.

"It's good to see you moving. How are you feeling?" She recalled their time at the Jedi temple, when he shunned her inquiries. Now he simply looked grateful.

"I'm lucky to be alive." He flexed his artificial fingers. "This'll take some getting used to, but Doc knows what he's doing."

"Is that a compliment I hear?"

Landon said, "Don't get used to them. I have a reputation."

Obi-Wan shuffled by Padme in the direction of the ramp. "Five minutes," he said over his shoulder.

Landon flashed her a smile walled off from his eyes. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That gives me a lot of flexibility." Padme thought his snicker seemed hollow. "Take it easy for now. We'll need you later."

* * *

Not for a moment had he considered an optical recorder. The greatest feature of our minds is the ability to forget. It self-edits to expunge mistakes large and small, and props up our better moments on a platform of nostalgia. Brummel wasn't looking forward to reviewing Logan's life.

The Memory Master pulled back from his console. "The data's perfectly intact. But I'll need several hours to calibrate the viewer. In the meantime, I've prepared rooms for you." He peered at the pink flesh of Obi-Wan's arms. "You've been busy by the looks of it. Why don't you get some sleep?"

"That won't be necessary," Obi-Wan said.

"I'm certainly tired," Padme admitted.

Just a twitch of his nose signaled annoyance. But sympathy was fast in replacing it. She didn't have the Force to hold off fatigue. "Perhaps respite is needed," Obi-Wan relented.

* * *

Brummel and Coda took separate rooms. Obi-Wan's and Padme's were in another hallway. Distrusting their host, Obi-Wan insisted on inspecting her quarters.

Gunmetal walls surrounded a queen bed, along with a nightstand and vanity. The bed didn't look soft, which hardly surprised them. The facilities were designed not for comfort but function.

Satisfied she was safe, Obi-Wan said, "Let me know if you need anything."

"You could stay if you like." Padme's offer surprised her as much as it did him. Surely, she thought, he wouldn't consider it. But his silence was deafening. The improper part of her pressed him shamelessly: "At least 'til I fall asleep. I'm a little scared, to be honest."

She deserved a lecture, but he couldn't deliver it. Her needy look was too strong for his training. "Until you fall asleep," he promised himself.

Deep warmth rippled through her. She took off her boots, as he placed his saber on the nightstand. Padme climbed into bed, leaving space for the Jedi.

Obi-Wan sat upright against the wall. Padme sprawled over him, cautiously placing her head on his chest. His arms closed around her. She shivered from contentment.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine for right now," Padme blushed.

"Nothing's going as planned."

" _You're_ our plan. They should call you 'The Improviser.'"

Obi-Wan grunted. "As monikers go, they've given me worse."

Padme ran her nails up his arm, avoiding the burns. "It's going to be okay, because you're the right man. No one could do this but you."

"The crew's falling apart," Obi-Wan challenged.

"We'll bend to our limits. That's unavoidable. You hold yourself to account for everyone's struggles. And I love that about you. But you're still only mortal. While you care for everyone, I'll care for you."

She felt herself squeezed even tighter to his chest. Suddenly Padme could see everything clearly. She'd spent too many years wondering if he needed her. He did; he had; he always would. He protected her body, her mind, her heart. Now she'd guard his soul, force him to cease its self-mutilation. _He needed her_. She barely withheld her giddy giggle.

Padme drifted to sleep, feeling Obi-Wan's hands tangle her hair.

* * *

"Wake up, pretty child."

The smell of blood. A black, gravelly babble. Deep, droning, it scraped at the surface of his dreary brain. His throat began to burn, as a rotted-flesh stench filled his lungs.

He felt his hands shaking. No part of him worked, pinned to Nothing by chilling placelessness.

There was blood on his face. He lay bent in wrong ways, missing pieces of his body, a desecrated temple for the exploring blasphemous.

"Meet your king, pretty child. I know you before you were born and after you die. There is no beginning. But I am the end."

He tried to cry out. He felt the scream in his throat. But still the black babble was all he could hear.

Obi-Wan's veins strained like living vines to break through his skin. The rotted scent whirled, around and around, and he knew it now as the remnants of ancients, commanded by darkness, obtained from their graves to be avatar puppets. Their blood-red souls branded his eyelids.

"Wherever you go, I have always been. Whatever you think, I have always heard. I know you been lusting. That flesh so soft. You'd do woesome things to feel that womb."

He writhed. Tried rising. But too little of his body remained to command. He tried screaming again. But there was only The Babble. The Force was dead.

"It's not your womb, pretty child. It's mine to fill."

Finally—a **scream**. It ripped from his throat. His eyes flew open. He called his saber to his hand and swung at the darkness.

"Obi-Wan! Stop!"

He choked on his scream. He stumbled to the wall. There was nothing in the darkness but Padme Amidala. He stared, heart blasting, at her terrified face. The blue light of his saber made her look so pale.

"Padme?" he mumbled like a child. He grabbed at his face. His hand came away sweaty with no sign of blood. He felt down his body for any parts missing. Every inch was just what it should be.

Padme rose slowly, fearing to startle him. She'd never seen him so lost in all her life. "It's okay," she soothed. "You were only dreaming."

The saber slid from his grasp, shutting off with a bang. His urge to vomit was overwhelming. He stopped her approach with a warning palm.

"You were only dreaming," she repeated.

"No! **No**. Don't you understand? I'll never dream again."


	33. Black Out the Ledger

Julian walked through the holographic data submerging stellar cartography. Blue-hued medical files lit up his face.

He was starting to get a picture of what happened on Mareth. But he still couldn't isolate _where_ it began, or more accurately, _with whom_. Patient zero was the key. Did someone make this? Was it a mutated animal virus? It was the greatest puzzle of Julian's career.

"What is your progress?" Quinn asked.

"Minimal," Julian answered without looking.

"Customarily, I would say, 'You are the best, so you will solve it.' But I know nothing of your talents. You may fail completely."

Julian replied, "Customarily, I would tell you to go to Hell. But I know nothing of your mood."

The irascible Jedi walked through the data. "Have you ascertained anything?"

"I keep coming back to how quickly it spread. It ravaged the planet in less than a day."

"Indeed: confounding. Even airborne transmission shouldn't work that fast."

Julian swiped through file after file. "I entertained the idea it was spread through their cognators. But again: a day. It's simply not possible."

"Hmm. It moved like the Force."

Julian's palm froze in the air. _It moved like the Force_. He spun on his heel, leapt through a holographic haze to reach a discarded data set. He swiped like a mad man until finding his target. His eyes comically widened. He exhaled raggedly.

"What is it?" asked Quinn.

"You're bloody brilliant!"

* * *

Padme asked gently, "Why do you think it's real? What did it say to you?"

Obi-Wan pulled on his beard. A twitch in his stony profile echoed his mania. "It doesn't matter what it _said_. For most of my life, I believed Sidious was the apogee of evil. But what I _felt_ —" He brought a fist to his mouth against rising bile. His face was pallid, and there was rime on the blood too slow inside him. "I think I met an Architect," he forced himself to speak. "With more death in his wake than you can possibly imagine."

Padme blinked. She nodded on delay, recalling the story. "Two factions: the Mercians and the Levolents. The Mercy Seat was made to counter the Levolents' power."

"This wasn't just a Levolent," Obi-Wan said. "It was _him—_ The One, so steeped in the Dark Side he transcended solid form. He became an entity unto himself. Like the Force."

Padme didn't like the sound of that. "Then the Mercians didn't prevail. If they had, they would've destroyed him."

"How do you kill a god?"

She furrowed her brow. "A god?"

"What else do you call a being as powerful as the Force?"

"I call him my enemy," Padme said fiercely.

An appreciative smirk flashed on his face. "Then I hope he is afraid," Obi-Wan said, pushing some hair behind her ear. He quickly withdrew, lest he go any further. "Let's see if they're ready."

* * *

It's a common refrain: I wish I could see the world through another person's eyes. But empathy, as a notion, has shaky foundations. Does it not derive mainly from our desire against conflict (inevitable though it be)? Projecting ourselves onto others seems a failure of understanding.

Coda looked through Logan's eyes as displayed on a monitor. The recorder was fast-forwarding through his primary school years. It would be a few hours before they reached his career.

She propped her elbow on the table, placed her chin on her palm. "Do you ever wonder what it means?"

Brummel said, "I don't look for the meaning of anything."

Coda pressed on despite his indifference: "Our whole lives, we wrestle with anxiety over dying. But it all ends in a moment, like fizz in a drink. And then we're only what others makes us. Can you really be a ghost without mediation?"

"There's no such things as ghosts."

"I hope you change your mind," Coda said lightly. "I'll be awful lonely if I'm left unconjured."

Something changed in Brummel's eyes. "You're going to outlive me."

"How do you know?" She looked off to find Obi-Wan entering, Padme at his side. They spared a glance at the Master before turning to Coda.

Obi-Wan asked, "Any luck yet?"

"It'll be a few hours," Coda said. "We can't go any faster without damaging data."

Outside the lab, the clean hum of the elevator suggested a new arrival. Obi-Wan asked the Master: "Expecting company?"

"No, but _you_ weren't expected either."

Obi-Wan's fingers rested on his belt. He let out a breath when a sprinting silhouette coalesced into Julian. "Doctor," he sighed. "What are you doing here?"

Julian doubled over, hands on his knees. Had he run the whole way?

"I know—" he hissed between breaths, "—how the plague spread."

Obi-Wan felt Brummel's anger leak through his shield. He'd never met anyone with a stronger mental barrier. That it failed Brummel now was deeply unsettling.

"It didn't spread through the air," Julian caught his breath. "It spread through the Force."

Padme's head jerked back. “ _What_?"

"It attacks the midichlorians," Julian explained. "Every survivor has one thing in common: low Force sensitivity. This wasn't nature being cruel. I think it was _designed_ ," he said grimly. "And I've found patient zero. She's in this room."

 _She_. A sudden coldness hit Coda's core. She stammered at the doctor: "What?!—That—that isn't true!"

"It's undeniable," Julian said. "You have an artificial antibody against the disease."

She looked back at Obi-Wan with doe-eyed panic. "Obi-Wan, I swear! I have no idea what he's talking about!"

"I do," Brummel said quietly. He climbed to his feet, pushing through their stunned silence: "It's true she created it. But she wasn't alone."

"Who helped her?" Padme choked out.

"I did..." He gestured at the Master. "He did." Finally, Brummel turned to Obi-Wan. "And you did."

Only the Force kept Obi-Wan from staggering back. " _Me_?"

"A version of you," Brummel clarified. "A later iteration. One who became what you’ll inevitably be. He said he came back in time, to fix what went wrong. And that he spent the last thirty years learning to see the future. That is: _possible_ futures. He'd prevent, at any cost, the Republic's annihilation."

"But the plague— _why_?" Julian demanded.

"He said that in every future he saw, the Republic was destroyed, when the Sith came to realize Mareth's significance. Every time, the Sith found the tablet with coordinates to the super-weapon. There was only _one_ future where their victory was in doubt. In that future, he cut them off from the planet by releasing a plague. He knew the Republic would quarantine Mareth."

Obi-Wan felt husked out. Only shame filled the shell. "I couldn't... I wouldn't..."

"But you did," Brummel said coldly. " _You_ created the plague. I was young, and dumb, and I followed you. We're swimming in blood, Kenobi."

Julian looked at Coda, who was openly weeping. "What about her?"

"The plague was transmitted through the Force. He wasn't strong enough to do it on his own. He needed her..."

Coda swiped at her ruined mascara. Freckles peeked through her makeup, glistening from tears. "Me? I'm no one..."

Brummel’s gaze seemed to come from an impossible distance. He stared into her eyes. "You're the last of the Mercians. The only surviving Architect. You're two million years old."

Obi-Wan asked Julian, "Doctor, is that possible?"

"Our cells regenerate perfectly—until the point they don't," Julian offered. "If that point never came, if regeneration perpetually continued, there's no good reason she couldn't live forever."

Padme demanded, "Why doesn't she remember?"

"She couldn't live with what she'd done," the Master said. "So she asked me for a reset."

"How could I do this?" Coda sobbed into her hands. "I'm a monster..."

" _Were_ a monster," Brummel corrected her. "The woman who did that no longer exists. And she never held a candle to Obi-Wan Kenobi, contriver of genocide."

Obi-Wan turned away. His vision was fuzzy. He couldn't breathe. He grasped for a console. Genocide. _Genocide_. It wasn't Sidious, Vader. _He_ killed these people.

The Negotiator. The perfect Jedi. Myth and lies. Obi-Wan was evil. He always had been. It only took some trauma to finally turn him. Killing millions of innocents... if that's what it took to save the Republic, then it wasn't worth saving.

He felt Padme's eyes on him. Felt the contents of her mind like so much steam. There was none of the warmth she typically possessed.

Julian challenged the premise. "'A later iteration,'" he repeated. "You say he came back in time. How? Is time travel even possible?"

The Master said too eagerly, "Ah! Quite possible, I assure you. I tried to learn how he did it, but he was rather evasive. Still, I ran every test. He was, indeed, Obi-Wan Kenobi." He chuckled at a memory, absurdly serene. "I wish he'd stayed longer. Fascinating man! And our plague was a stroke of genius. It's some of my best work."

" **Your best work!** " Julian exploded. "You killed 600 million people! I'm glad you had fun, you bloody bastard! Tell that to the fucking parents of all the children you killed!"

The Master flinched back, genuinely shaken. "Doctor, you heard him say it. We didn't have a choice."

"And just how do you know that?" Julian growled. "Because he had a vision? Well, I hate to break it to you, but Jedi visions are bollocks. They thought bloody Darth Vader would bring balance to the Force!"

Obi-Wan's knuckles went white. The doctor wasn't wrong. Neither was Brummel. The Jedi trusted their instincts no matter the results. "Where is he now?" Obi-Wan croaked.

"No one knows," said Brummel. "He's a void in the Force."

"A void?"

"It took all your power to spread the plague. You burned out like a star. Keeping your connection to the Force would've killed you. Whatever you had left, it needed a release valve. Somewhere to go. So you channeled it into me. Just as Coda did."

Obi-Wan swallowed. "That's why you're so strong. You took their powers."

"It's a burden, I assure you."

Padme found her voice, or rather, she _constructed_ it, the way she did on the floor of the Senate. It was even, calm, and terribly strained. "Our mission doesn't change. We need to find the tablet. The answer's still in Logan's memories."

"So that's it?" scoffed Julian. "You want to pretend this didn't happen?"

"Of course she does," Brummel sneered. "She's a lovesick puppy."

She didn't take the bait. Her mouth was a stubborn line. "I'm not pretending anything. I'm reminding you why we're here."

Obi-Wan couldn't force himself to focus. He was living the same Hell as Brummel and Julian.

In his prepubescent years, Qui-Gon was a father. His master forgave him when he couldn't forgive himself. He'd say: "Obi-Wan, you are not your worst day." Yet I have to believe, some days are so bad, they black out the ledger.

Surely evil is some men's destiny. But it's a very small number. Most evil men were not fated to be so. It's the choices made that put you on a path. Now, there are certainly off-ramps, myriad opportunities to find another road. But it doesn't sweep up wreckage; that's there for eternity.

All of us are cruel, and most of us are kind. But again: the ledger. What is that kindness when measured against the pain we've wrought upon the world? Obi-Wan Kenobi killed 600 million people. Did his ledger have room for anything else?

"My time will come," Obi-Wan said.


	34. Let Us Be Silent

Coda found the dig site in Logan's memories. It would be a long journey, taking them through the Badlands. That included the Dark Zone, where electronics didn't work. When Mareth's government destroyed the infected cities, it used EMP bombs.

With the region still affected, their only option was horses. Few still lived, owned by billionaire Davit Vorka. Even before the Red Death, Vorka pervaded every aspect of Marethean life. He could coerce government with the gentlest nudge.

It so happened Vorka was hosting a party that evening. This would be their best chance.

Coda stood at the sink. Her hair was uncoiled in haphazard strands. Her makeup was ruined, revealing freckles underneath. Runny mascara framed her sad eyes. _This_ was reality. _This_ was Coda.

Were her two million years marked by other atrocities? Had she done worse in her past than kill 600 million?

A shadow came over her, before Obi-Wan's face appeared in the mirror. She met his stare in the glass, as haunted as hers.

Coda swallowed, braced her hands on the sink, and said in a low rasping voice: "I wonder, if we're to be held to account, what we'll tell our creator on the day of our judgment."

Obi-Wan's brows tightened then relaxed. His jaw worked at responding for seemingly minutes.

"Let us be silent," Obi-Wan said.

_“It doesn't get much quieter," said Commander Avery._

_"Lucky me,” replied Julian. “I was a little worried: catching a ride on a warship."_

_The dark-skinned Avery flashed his teeth. "We'll get you to Coruscant in one piece. Or, at least, one piece of you will get there."_

" _Make sure it's my hands. I'm giving Senator Organa a new spleen tomorrow."_

 _Avery guided his guest through the_ Endurance _corridors. The ship had long been the pride of the first battalion, which Mace Windu oversaw. Avery had held this post for thirteen years. He should've been an admiral, but he refused to be promoted._

" _Have you ever thought about serving?" asked Avery. "As an officer, I mean."_

_“All the time," said Julian._

_“”What's stopping you?"_

_It wasn't a good memory. Julian could still feel the letter in his hands. "I failed my medical exam. They said I had Markon Syndrome."_

_“But you don't?"_

_“No, I'm the picture of health," Julian boasted. "An error, perhaps. Or Senator Organa thought he was protecting me. Whatever the case, it wasn't in the cards."_

_“Too bad," grinned Avery. "Our doctor's a bit... rough."_

_“Then you shouldn't aggravate him."_

_“My_ existence _aggravates him."_

_Julian said, "Maybe if you died he'd be gentler."_

_Avery laughed. "I'll keep that in mind, Doctor."_

_The ship rocked violently, throwing them to the wall. Klaxons blared in the corridor. A computerized voice declared: "Red alert... Red alert..."_

_Avery staggered to a com-panel. "Bridge, report!"_

" _Sith interceptors!" came a voice. "Attacking from starboard! Imperial star destroyers at 200,000 meters!"_

" _Evasive maneuvers!" ordered Avery. "Scramble the A-Wings!" He killed the channel, jogging to the elevator. "Doctor, we could certainly use you—"_

_"— in the medbay. I'll prep for casualties."_

" _Good. You're in charge. Don't bother with pleasantries."_

"Why doesn't this bother you?" Julian demanded.

"Do not be a child," Quinn said. "People must die for a greater good. Master Kenobi did what was needed."

"Are your scruples so fluid?"

"Doctor, your naivety is grating. You luxuriate in morals while we pay the cost."

Julian sniggered, "Is that the Jedi talking? Or the Trandoshan?"

"You understand neither," Quinn fired back. "One prefers peace. Both go to war. Both sacrifice the few for the good of the many."

"One day _you_ will be the few, Quinn. And you'll be glad I'm not a Jedi."

The doctor turned, banging the door when it opened too slowly. He stomped into the corridor.

Julian wasn't ignorant of the horrors of war. For much of his life, he'd dreamt of serving. But this wasn't war. They'd killed millions of civilians. It wasn't collateral damage but precision targeting.

He wished his friend were here. Miler was the conscience of the Tangent's crew, balancing moral surety with war's cold truths. He was bred to win wars without losing who he was. Julian feared in his absence all of them were lost.

His mind drifted to Aayla, sequestered in her quarters. As far as he knew, she hadn't eaten. He went to the mess hall to prepare her a meal. Then keying in the lock code, he entered her quarters.

She was sitting cross-legged, reading a book. He squinted at the title: _Only Embers Remain_.

"Is it good?" asked Julian. "I never read it."

Aayla didn't look up. "Is that meal an apology?"

"It's just food."

"He called you his best friend, you know."

Julian cringed. "He was mine, too."

"No," Aayla sneered. "Because if he was, I wouldn't be here. Locked up like an animal."

"An animal? They have more self-control."

"Miler would be ashamed of you."

"Ow. Blasters to kill," Julian snarked. "Shall I return fire? Or will your lightsaber block it?"

Aayla menaced at his smugness. "Tell Obi-Wan to fight his own battles." She watched him half-turn, put down the food tray. "Did I strike a nerve? What's he done now?"

The doctor pulled his back straight, remaining in profile. "He's done enough. You both have."

* * *

Obi-Wan selected Padme, Coda, Landon, and R2 to join him at Vorka's party. It was a formal affair, requiring a tie. He placed one on his neck, letting it dangle unknotted. He stared in the mirror.

It was hard to accept a doppelganger: an older _him_ sharing the galaxy. Now he grappled with his alternate's evil.

Was it evil, though? If it prevented the Sith's victory, was it not, in fact, _moral_? Mace would say it was. But it was easy to think that in the Jedi Temple, where systems were reduced to war front maps. Fixed values were assigned to sentient life.

Perhaps not moral. But didn't _evil_ require cruel motivations? Without them, was not an act simply _wrong_? Wrong he could live with. Wrong is a mistake. Evil would destroy him.

Obi-Wan blinked, and an angel appeared.

Everything faded. There was only her beauty. Not since she was queen had he seen her like this. A long white gown, made of soft silk and tafetta, with a u-shaped cutout just above her breasts, was punctuated by an intricate ribbon. Over the dress was a petaled cape. And fixed behind her head was an organza fan, capped with jeweled finials glimmering in the light. Padme's hair was drawn up into a star-shaped bun, with a delicate diadem resting on her forehead. Her face was painted white, with pink dots on each cheek and dark-red gloss wetting her lips.

This vision of Padme threatened his control. She never looked more beautiful than in this garb. "Padme..."

She avoided his eyes, while her dainty fingers worked at his tie. She made a perfect knot, before leaving one palm flat on his chest. "I've decided it wasn't you. That's the only way I can live with it."

Obi-Wan felt an ache in his chest. He'd never understood Padme's faith. Where he saw flaws, she saw character; where he saw guilt, she saw honor. Did she finally understand how rotten he was?

"I'm not innocent," Padme said. "You made them sick, and I sentenced them to die by voting for the quarantine."

"For God's sake, Padme, it's not the same thing!"

"Don't tell me that," Padme pleaded. "There's a chance I'll believe you."

"The truth must prevail."

"Maybe the truth's just a lie we all agree to leave alone. So I think I'll pick the _best_ lie. The one that lets me revere you." She lifted her eyes. This time it was Obi-Wan avoiding her gaze. "You can save our galaxy. That might be enough."

_“It's not enough, Doctor!"_

" _It'll have to be!" Julian shouted back._

_The heart monitor exploded. Nurse Vaka was on the ground. One eye was run through with a stalactite of glass. The other stared pleading at an absentee god._

_She'd fallen on a patient. Julian nudged her with his boot to get underneath. He took the Rodian by the wrist. He yanked him to his feet. Then he handed him off to the last living nurse._

_“Get him to the escape pod!" Julian demanded._

_“What about you?" cried the nurse._

_The star destroyer's barrage shook the medbay again. One of the beds unloosed. It tumbled through the room—instantly killing the nurse and the Rodian._

_Julian didn't mourn. He had one more patient. He staggered to her bed. Her ventilator had lost power. She was clinging to life._

_His comm-link cried: "Doctor!"_

_He ripped the tube from her throat and shouted back: "What is it, Commander?"_

_“You're not at your escape pod!"_

_Julian took her in his arms. "Working on it, sir!"_

_“You have three minutes! We won't last any longer!"_

_Julian stumbled, falling to a knee. He grunted with the effort of heaving her up. "Splendid. I don't suppose you have a jet pack? That would—"_

_He felt the explosion before he heard it. The wall pulled apart like so much paper. Steel beams snapped, crushing the patient beds. A curtain of flames blocked the path out. Smoke and steel bits filled Julian's lungs. He looked about, coughing. No other exits. No way out. The medbay would be his fiery tomb._

"You're not on the guest list," said the snooty doorman.

Obi-Wan waved his hand impatiently. "Yes, we are. You will let me in. And you will apologize for my inconvenience."

The doorman's lip quivered. "I'm—I'm sorry, sir. You're right here," he said, pointing at nothing. "I apologize for your inconvenience."

"He accepts," Padme said chidingly.

The barrier removed, they entered an opulent ballroom. Paneled walls of laroon wood were trimmed with iridescent gold that brilliantly shimmered. On the near wall was the art of Ebenn Baobab, known for nightmarish landscapes. Crystal chandeliers, bombastic relics of ancient Alderann, could've led you to believe this home was a royal court.

A gold droid waddled up, arms straight out. "Greetings. My name is C-P3O, human-cyborg relations."

His memory's been wiped, Obi-Wan realized. A chill ran down his spine being in the presence of something Vader created.

"Can I assist y—" R2 whined at him. "I was not addressing you, R2 unit. Learn some manners." R2 beeped rapidly. "My creator was a _man_. Otherwise, I would be _very_ offended!"

"3PO," Obi-Wan interceded, "I need to speak with Mr. Vorka. Please arrange an audience."

"Very good, sir. I will seek out the master." His disposition darkened when a Young Woman walked by. "Excuse me! Why are you in the ballroom? Get out of sight, before master sees you!"

The Young Woman grimaced, sweating profusely. Her eyes were glassy and she looked very ill.

Landon took her arm. "Y'all right, darlin'?"

"I shouldn't be here," she mumbled.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a receptacle. It's not my place."

"Your _place_ is wherever you want," Landon said.

She had a flicker of hope that quickly faded. She'd learned a long time ago that the world wasn't like that. "Please, sir. Master will see me."

Landon reluctantly pulled away. The Young Woman scuttered from the ballroom, leaving him stunned.

Coda asked, "Are you all right?"

Landon said, "I've seen a lotta shitty worlds. Yours takes the cake."

"I'm starting to see that."

_He couldn't see anything. There was too much fire. Too much smoke. He placed his body on the woman's. Already she'd inhaled enough to be fatal._

_As hopeless as it was, Julian had an oath. Not the Hippocratic oath, but one he'd never understood and which he thought he was born with._

_He wished he could've seen his father one final time. But at least there was a letter (he wrote a new one whenever he traveled) to be delivered after death._

_Julian felt a rush of air. He smelled a strange chemical. Suddenly by the door the fire was tamped down. Commander Avery wielded an extinguisher. He sprayed a straight line from the door to Julian._

_The path, railed by twisted, melting metal, wouldn't last long. Avery dropped to his knees. He put a mask on the doctor. The sudden oxygen made Julian cough._

_The ceiling collapsed on a cabinet. Smashed glass disjected. Vials clattered, rolled into fire._

" _On your feet!" Avery shouted over klaxons. He pulled Julian from the floor. The woman was dead. "Move your ass! I've got four officers in that escape pod! None of them want to die!"_

_“Why did you come back?" Julian yelled weakly._

_Avery slung the doctor's arm over his shoulder. "Because you needed me!"_

"Violence isn't needed," Obi-Wan said. "We'll find a deal with Mister Vorka."

Padme hoped he was right. When she was trying to remake Mareth's economy, Vorka had been her strongest detractor. Money above all: it hadn't helped then, but it might help now.

According to R2, Vorka's decor had astronomical value. Some of these pieces were reported destroyed. This saved Vorka the annoyance of collectors' inquiries.

"He doesn't deserve all this," Padme said.

Obi-Wan agreed, but mused, "What is it _we_ deserve?”

* * *

Minister Jupak Eem saw Coda across the room. Her attention was taken, and he used that fact to drink in her image. Coda's backless dress included a long trail that pooled behind her. The pink gown covered her breasts but left open her neck and stomach. Matching arm-length gloves and a shimmering pendant completed the ensemble.

"Minister Prosper," he approached her. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"But not displeased, I imagine," Coda said tightly.

Eem wrinkled his nose at Landon. "How refreshing to have a... common man among us."

"I even took a bath," Landon said.

The minister's eyes roamed Coda's flat stomach, her lightly freckled neck, and the bright green eyes that so abhorred him. "I heard Logan Brace is missing," he said with false concern.

Coda forced a neutral tone. "I'm sure he'll turn up. Logan likes his privacy."

"As do we all," a deep voice said.

Davit Vorka wore wealth as a child wears food. He couldn't help but get it all over him. His dinner coat alone cost twenty thousand credits. Underneath was a silk shirt, with cuff-links fashioned from the gold of a dead emperor's teeth.

"Minister," Vorka bowed, "this _is_ a rare pleasure. So rare I am not bothered that you were not invited."

"I assumed my invitation was merely lost," Coda said.

"Perhaps it's providence. Because I recently acquired an incredible memory. One so fascinating I intend not to trade it." Vorka turned to the grand stairs, gesturing come-hither. The Young Woman obliged. "Prin: access the memory I stored this morning. Display it as a preview."

Landon thought she was paler than before. But she hid her tremor in Vorka's presence.

Prin tapped her cognator, and it projected a memory. Whose was unknown.

_The Unknown Person was at a dig site. Coda was with him, studying gylphs on a wall. Behind her, in the middle-ground, an old man in Jedi robes peered into the distance. The breeze gently tousled his gray-white hair._

The preview ended. Coda's mouth opened then closed. She'd seen two ghosts: one of the past, and one the future.

"You never knew you met a Jedi," Vorka presumed. "How does it make you feel?"

"Overwhelmed."

* * *

_Birth of the Universe_ was Vorka's crown jewel. It was the oldest known painting in galactic history, predating the Old Republic. Some believed it could be as old fifty-thousand years. The colors, while faded, were remarkably preserved. It depicted a human fetus, with celestial tendrils connecting it to a blue-red accretion disk that rimmed a large mass.

"Why is it human?" asked Padme.

"The _Architects_ were human," Obi-Wan said. "Coda proves that."

"I guess you're right. Perhaps I'm too slow to believe in human exceptionalism."

Sidious came up beside them, hands clasped behind his back. "I wish Davit's parties were as captivating as his art."

Padme said cautiously, "It's not for me either."

"I would think, as a senator, you'd be well accustomed."

"It seems everyone on Mareth knows me on sight."

Sidious bowed contritely. "I shall place us on even ground. My name is Victor Howth. I'm an investor."

"What do you invest in?" Obi-Wan asked.

The dark lord's mischief might've given him away, if the vessel he occupied had facility with the Force. That he moved silently through it now unexpectedly aided him. "Mostly futures," Sidious said. "Senator, does your presence mean the quarantine's over?"

Padme responded, "It means only that I'm here."

Sidious smiled without teeth. She couldn't know his polite bow was abject mockery. "Well, I for one am happy to have you. Good evening, Senator."

"Good evening," she replied as he departed.

At the other end of the ballroom, Obi-Wan found Vorka with Coda and Landon. He sighed to himself. So much for C-3PO.

* * *

"Minister Eem," Coda said, "I don't wish to be rude, but we have something private to discuss with Davit."

Eem reddened with anger. But one look from Vorka and he slithered off.

"You have piqued my curiosity," Vorka said.

Obi-Wan appeared from behind him. "Allow me to pique it further."

"General Kenobi! What a welcome surprise."

C-3PO waddled up. "Master, General Kenobi wishes to speak with you... Oh! Very good, sir."

After a withering glance, Obi-Wan told Vorka, "I'm rarely in the presence of such wealth."

"Does the Jedi Temple not qualify?" Vorka wondered. "Republic taxpayers have been very generous."

Obi-Wan found little difference between politicians and the wealthy. In their minds, their accumulated power benefits everyone. "I understand you have a rare privilege: permission to leave the city."

"The spoils of success."

"I would share in those spoils."

Vorka restrained a hearty laugh. "Would you? And what would I share in?"

There was only one thing he could offer: a piece of himself. A memory of such importance it might change who he was. From Padme's expression, she knew it, too. Obi-Wan asked, "Have you ever heard of the Battle of Reva IV?"

"One of the bloodiest of the war," Vorka said. "You lost, as I recall."

"Thoroughly. Ten million men died. I only survived because I was trapped in a cave in. For weeks, I subsisted on bugs, struggling in the darkness to find a way out. By the time I did, the Sith were gone. The planet was a wasteland. I was quite literally the only man alive."

Despite his palpable excitement, Vorka paused to simulate thinking. It allowed him to delight in Padme's grimness. "Prin!" he shouted.

His receptacle appeared, soaked in sweat. Prin's very pale cheeks were now green-blue. She swayed on her feet, barely standing.

"Prepare to receive," said Vorka.

"Hey—hold on!" Landon intervened. "Look at her. She's about to fall over."

"She's just a receptacle."

"She's a _person_."

"Do not be literal. It's childish."

"Listen here, you little—"

Coda pulled Landon's arm. "Let's take a walk."

He allowed her to lead him, but turned one shoulder to glower at Vorka. He wanted to beat his smug face in. "That girl—"

"I know!" Coda whispered. "He's despicable. But unfortunately, we need him."

Vorka told Obi-Wan, "He should learn his stratum."

"I think he knows it perfectly," Obi-Wan replied. He gently asked Prin, "Are you ready, ma'am?"

When she shakily nodded, Obi-Wan shut his eyes. Their cognators lit to signify transfer.

The world faded into mist. He was alone with his memory, and then it slipped away. No longer his. Then screaming. _Screaming_.

His eyes shot open. Prin was screaming. She leapt on Vorka. She pulled him to the ground. Scratching. Clawing. She ripped at his face. Screaming. _Screaming_. Vorka's blood. On her nails. On his suit. " **No more**!"

Vorka's security came running. "Don't kill her!" he yelled.

The guard tazed her in the neck. Prin convulsed, falling unconscious. Landon rushed at the guard, but Obi-Wan held him back.

"Get her to the memory chamber!" Vorka ordered. "Harvest everything. Kill her when it's done."

"You'll do no such thing," Obi-Wan growled.

Vorka said, "It is not your concern, General," wiping his blood with a handkerchief. "I suggest you tread carefully."

"I will _tread_ where I must, as _loudly_ as needed."

Vorka watched Prin being being pulled up the stairs. Everyone at the party was aghast at the spectacle. He didn't want any more embarrassment. "She will be treated," he acceded. "Remain here. I will return to hear your needs."

Landon looked at Obi-Wan gratefully. The Jedi touched his arm and went to find R2.

"Check your sleeve," Padme told Landon. "You left your heart there."

* * *

Sidious met Vorka halfway to the chamber, falling in stride with him.

Vorka asked, "Do you want me to kill Kenobi?"

"You may find it impossible," said Sidious. "But I encourage you to try."

"Once he's left the city. I don't wish to make a scene."

Sidious waved his hand. "It is a trivial matter. My concern is the artifact."

"My men are en route," Vorka assured him. "They'll find your artifact."

It took many lessons, but Sidious knew better than to underestimate Obi-Wan. What he lacked in power, he made up for in... something. But even if Kenobi beat them to the artifact, he couldn't thwart the emperor's plan. Soon Sidious would possess a more powerful body. And he'd return to his rightful throne.


	35. Into the Cold Infinity

"Republic losses are catastrophic. We've cut off their supply lines to Coruscant. Thus begins their proverbial asphyxiation. It will be three weeks before they can marshal their fleet to attack our blockade. That will be far too late. Without supplies, Coruscant will be helpless in fifteen days. That's when we'll invade."

Vader said warningly, "I will not wait fifteen days."

Grand Moff Tarkin regarded him patiently. "Lord Vader, you have personally killed seven hundred Jedi since ascending to emperor. Your power has grown in ways I don't understand. But I beseech you: do not indulge in the ignorance such a feat may produce. The invasion of Coruscant will cost us millions of men. But if we attack too soon, the cost will be _billions_."

Vader's voice deepened, darkened; it was clipped and oiled. And it smoked with fury. It so far transcended fury that Tarkin finally flinched. "Their lives are inconsequential. The Kaminoan clones will be ready in a month. They are bred to be fighters, but they could just as easily replace men like you." Tarkin's insolence had ensured his removal. But not just yet. He still had use. "You have seven days, Grand Moff. Make your preparations."

Tarkin bowed. "Your will be done, my lord."

He turned sharply on his heel and walked to the door. Once there, he paused.

"Something else, Tarkin?" The Grand Moff's silence baited Vader to arrogance. His cruel grin seemed to irradiate the room. "You don't like me very much, do you? You think you could run the empire better."

Tarkin slowly turned to face him, unmistakably pleased. His hands unclasped from behind him, and one lifted to a panel nestled in the wall. "Power abhors a vacuum," said Tarkin. "But not as much as you will."

A force field flashed on between Tarkin and the room. The viewport exploded outward, and Vader was sucked into the cold infinity of space.

The force field protecting Tarkin lightly flickered from debris. He asked through his commlink: "Are the others secure?"

"They are," replied Admiral Lorne.

* * *

Demic's hands dug into her hips as he thrusted toward bliss. The young Twi'lek mewled encouragement, legs locked around him. In spite of her obligation, her own bliss impended, too.

He suddenly gasped, ceased his thrusting, as the intense pain of Darth Vader erupted from their Force bond. His eyes bulged like Vader's. He was choking as Vader was. The young Twi'lek underneath him went still as night. _Tarkin_ , he realized. The girl was sent to keep him busy.

Demic unsheathed from her womb, throwing her to the floor. He pulled on his pants, called his saber to his hand, and rushed out the door.

Three Sith were waiting. Demic Force-pinned them to the wall. They wriggled futilely as his saber flashed on. He cut a perfect line through their torsos. Their bisected bodies flopped to the ground.

"Lord Demic!" Grievous cried through his commlink. "Vader has been betrayed! I will try to save him! But you must get to the bridge!"

Demic ran to the lift. When the doors opened, revealing a terrified officer who knew nothing of the scheme, Demic slashed her throat and threw her to the corridor. "Save him, Grievous!" Demic demanded. And he really meant it. Vader was right: they were no longer Sith.

* * *

Vader tumbled through space back-over front. He used Force-pull to kill his motion. But already he'd traveled fifty meters. And he was losing lucidity.

Foolishly, he'd taken a breath when the room depressurized. Thus his lungs were expanding. His body swelled to double-size. The blood vessels in his eyes burst. Saliva boiled in his mouth. The nearby star began cooking his flesh. Red-orange burns and intense-cold blues simultaneously colored his skin.

Ten seconds. Then twenty and thirty. Vader's lungs ruptured in his chest. A piece of exploded hull severed an arm and leg. Blood spurted out in large globules the size of a data pad. The unconscious Vader went limply spinning.

* * *

On the bridge, Wrath and Malice were trapped in a ray-shield. The crew watched in stunned silence Vader in space.

Tarkin faced his prisoners. "Emperor Sidious was a Sith. But he knew better than to rule the empire like a religious cult. I will be the firm hand you sorcerers need."

Malice growled, "You pathetic fool! You couldn't control a lowly acolyte!"

"I can with an inhibitor chip," Tarkin gloated. "Every Sith—including you—will be programmed for loyalty."

"Look!" Lorne shouted.

Tarkin whirled at the window. General Grievous flew from an airlock, hooking his grapple to the hull, and intercepted Vader. Grievous held his master to his metal bosom. And the grapple reeled them in. Halfway, he released it, letting momentum carry them to the airlock.

Tarkin ordered, "Seal the inner door! Don't let—" Red plasma ripped through his spine and burst from his chest. He thought he screamed, but all he heard was a whimper. His legs gave out, and as Tarkin sank, Demic's saber chewed a line from his ribs to his clavicle.

Then pulling it free, Demic held it straight out and Force-pulled Lorne onto his blade. The admiral died moaning.

Major Pruitt, third in command, quickly shut off the ray-shield. Wrath and Malice, now free, ran to the lift to join Grievous.

Demic promised the major: "If Vader dies, I will kill the entire crew."

Pruitt blanched. He yelled into his commlink: "All doctors and med-droids: report to the infirmary!"

* * *

Grievous kept vigil for eighty-five excruciating hours. The med-droids and doctors did everything they could to repair Vader's body. Artificial organs replaced the originals, which his own breath had destroyed. Prosthetic limbs replaced his right arm and leg. But this wouldn't have been enough to sustain Vader's life.

The dark lord's body was encased in an armored suit. His damaged nerves were supplemented with nanite processors that relayed signals through his body. Vader's sternum was replaced with metal plates, fitted around his new organs and the cables that connected the Sith to his suit.

The black armor provided partial protection against blasters and sabers. Its durasteel gauntlets were surprisingly lightweight, providing maneuverability. The chest and shoulder plate, comprised of six segments, thinned near his shoulder joints to maximize flexibility and had deemphasized life-support controls over his solar plexus.

Only part of his face remained visible. Vader couldn't breathe or speak on his own. And so a black mask, with a triangular grill, covered his nose and mouth, connecting to a spiked head piece that served as a kind of crown. A built-in vocoder let him speak in a modulated voice.

His burn-scarred head and damaged eyes—like red rorschach blots—were the only signs that a living being inhabited the armor.

Now, for the first time, Vader had risen. He stood watching the stars at the medbay window.

Grievous debated disturbing him. Would it only anger the dark lord to see a near-reflection of what he had become? Personal desire won out over caution.

"The crew was interrogated," the droid-man said. "We killed every traitor who conspired with Tarkin."

Vader replied through his vocoder: "Thank you... _Grand Moff_ Grievous."

I've often wondered in my life whether evil men _feel_. Can a man who kills read a book and root for the protagonist? What about the villain? You see, kinship takes empathy, and it seems beyond a killer to _feel_ for someone else. I think I want it to be so that they don't feel anything. But it doesn't matter what I want.

Grievous bowed his head. "You honor me, Lord Vader."

"You changed history," the dark lord said. "Had I died, the empire would have devolved into factions. An endless civil war. But instead, word will spread that the emperor cannot be killed. And very soon, it will be true."

"Your power is growing. Already, it has surpassed Lord Sidious."

Vader heard the implicit question. He felt more at peace than he ever had in his life, and suddenly it mattered to him that the droid-man understood. "Every time we kill a Jedi, or a Sith, we take their power. We _add it_ to our own. Count Dooku's essence lives on in us. As does that of Sidious."

"How?" Grievous wondered.

"I am in contact with a spirit, a being, who lives outside the Force. He calls himself the Dark Intelligence. To the Architects, he was known as _The One_. He has battled the Force for millions of years. And now, finally, I've given him means to destroy it. And in return, he's given me the means to achieve ultimate power."

Suddenly Sidious' schemes seemed primitive, childish. Vader planned on a scale Sidious couldn't dream of. To _destroy_ the Force: there was no greater conquest. But Grievous feared in such a war he was highly expendable. Those who can't feel the Force can't contribute to its destruction. Yet it ultimately didn't matter. Grievous would serve his master to the bitter end.

Vader's devilish eyes filled with emotion. "You are my brother, Grievous. When I stand in the Jedi Temple, and the fountains turn to fire, and I cradle the empty skull of Mace Windu in my palm... I will be honored if you stand beside me."

Grievous looked at the stars, fragile little things, so small and insignificant he was certain that Vader could pinch them to darkness. Before his reconstruction, before his brain and organs were put in a metal shell, Grievous had felt alive. After his transformation, he’d felt powerful but dead. But now, in the red light of Darth Vader and the black of the cold infinity, Grievous knew that he lived and that his strength would not falter.

"The honor will be mine... brother."


	36. The Blood Will Speak

Obi-Wan's choices were controversial. Aayla was still confined to quarters. R2 and Julian would stay with the Tangent. Everyone else would join him at the ruins.

While others were preparing, Palmer went to see Aayla. He used a stolen code to enter her quarters.

Aayla jumped to her feet. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

Palmer breathed her heady mix of anger and grief. It bypassed his lungs, finding home in his spirit, bringing indescribable pleasure that was neither Jedi nor Sith. "I want to tell you a story," came his wet voice. "You may cherish or discard it."

"Perhaps it's _you_ I will discard," Aayla warned.

Palmer laughed beneath his breath. "You could burn me alive and my embers would destroy you. That's the beauty of the Force."

"There is no beauty in the Force. It's a broken mirror."

"You may find it persists in one of its shards."

Aayla summoned patience. In her present situation, it could only help her to listen. She signaled acquiescence by sitting on the bed.

"My story is a happy story," Palmer told her. "You won't think it at first. But let it seep in. Let it fill the holes in you." An eerie grin spread over his face. "When I was a child, my father mined lava. I don't know what he was like before he spilled his seed. But the man I knew burned hotter than Mustafar. He used to tie me to a pillar and whip my back. If I talked back, made a mess, did poorly in school: he'd break every bone in my face. This is not my true appearance; my face was reconstructed at least five times. There are times when I look at infants that I love them for their realness.

"I was punished many times in many ways. But his favorite was a branding iron. There's a mess of symbols all down my back. The pain, man; the god damn pain. I cried for my mother to show me her love. To protect me from evil. To show me another way. He was evil and she was weak, and I hated then, as now, weakness over evil.

"One day, I decided it was over. I simply decided my destiny was at hand. In one beautiful moment of transcendent realization, I discovered the Force. I nearly beat them to death, before taking them to the bridge that overlooked a volcanic lake. They pleaded for their lives. They told me they would change. I cannot describe the cleansing pleasure when I threw them in the lake. When I watched them burn alive. Heard the pleading screams from their melting faces.

"I returned home to call the sheriff. I said my parents were missing. He took one look at the ruined house and concluded they were kidnapped. I knew my parents' file was going in a drawer. For a planet that hot, there were only cold cases.

"The sheriff placed me in an orphanage. That's where the Jedi found me."

Aayla stared into nothing. She didn't understand. Where was his anger? Did he not possess guilt? She thought he might've been an echo of a person. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because the Jedi lie. The Sith lie. You can have your vengeance without walking in the dark forever. Watching them burn in that fire was the best moment of my life."

"Why were you a Jedi? For all of those years."

"They brought me there to use me, but instead I used them."

Aayla swallowed. "You didn't believe? In the Code? In anything?"

Palmer could feel her sliding from the light. She scrabbled for handholds to ease her descent, but one by one, Palmer chopped them away, so she might see the gray expanse as her inevitable future. "I have my own morals. They suit my interests."

He tapped his finger on his saber. "You're going to be all alone. I'm sure you can find a way out of this room."

"And what do I do then?" Aayla whispered.

"Whatever you want."

* * *

Brummel came upon Palmer exiting Aayla's quarters.

"The mighty Sentinel," Palmer grinned. "Hero of the people. Can I get your autograph, man? Make it out, 'Here lies...'"

"What were you doing?" Brummel asked.

Palmer turned down his mouth, but his eyes were still smiling. "Advising a colleague. She's had a rough time."

"A kindness?"

"Just something to amuse myself," Palmer said.

Brummel's ever-bleak mien was more than a match for him. "I'm glad you're amusing someone."

The mirth died in Palmer's eyes. "The most dangerous man will laugh and laugh, until there's something needs doing. Even then, I might laugh. Is that the last thing you wanna hear when you leave this world?"

Silence fell like an anvil between them.

Finally, Brummel asked, "How small is your dick, Palmer?"

"It fits on the Dawn Tangent."

"Then it must be around here somewhere," Brummel said helpfully.

* * *

Landon sat at a workbench reassembling his blaster. It used to annoy him to maintain his weapon, but now he found it a meditation as he'd found new purpose. He couldn't be a good man, but he _could_ protect one.

"Isn't that R2's job?" Padme asked.

"It needs a human touch."

"Hmm."

Landon's blaster grip clicked into place. "Are you sure wanna come? Not trying to doubt you. But we don't know what's out there."

Padme smiled with genuine curiosity. "Is that concern in your voice?"

"Maybe. I'm not myself these days."

"I did marvel at your passion defending that girl."

Landon set down the blaster. It wasn't quite finished. His head shook and he squinted. "I think there's some wires crossed. My son. Miler. My brain's fucked up. But I don't wanna fight it."

She said after a silence, "You think if you do the right thing, at the right moment, you'll make up for the wrong you've done." Padme shrugged, ghosting a smile. "It's worth a try."

Landon laughed silently. An alien feeling passed through him like a breeze. Do you call it hope?

* * *

Julian questioned the wisdom of leaving him behind. A doctor would mitigate the danger of their excursion. But he bid himself not be churlish. Already, he'd administered a surfeit of tough love. He should save some for himself.

Engrossed in these thoughts, he didn't hear Obi-Wan enter the infirmary.

"It may displease you to remain," Obi-Wan said. "But I need someone I trust here: with the ship _and_ Aayla."

Julian looked at him tiredly. "You've made a right of mess of her. We both have."

Unwanted bitterness tinged Obi-Wan's tone. "She has no patent on pain. I loved Miler."

"So did I. Now imagine our pain multiplied by infinity." There was no pleasure in saying it. Julian sought no reaction. "In any case, you have bigger things to worry about. What you— _future_ you—did is unconscionable. But it's not inevitable. I believe in my heart you're an honorable man."

Obi-Wan flattened his mouth. His hands disappeared into the folds of his cloak. He seemed to shrink to initiate's size, and the smallness of his voice increased the effect.

"Perhaps your heart is wrong."

* * *

Seven horses galloped through the desert. Their route to the ruins was long and unusual. Obi-Wan didn't trust Vorka, and he wouldn't put it past Karn to have them killed. Thus their many detours were worth the added time.

It was a silent trip. Each crewman possessed a secret pain, wielded against themselves. And each of them was certain their pain was greatest. Remember what I said about selflessness? That it could be illusion? It occurs to me Jedi spend a lot of time thinking about themselves.

Neither Vorka's mercenaries nor Karn's army intercepted them. This brought Obi-Wan little comfort. After five hot hours, when they climbed off their horses, he still had a sick feeling.

The Temple of the Holy Builders tributed the Architects who once governed Mareth. By its size and detail, it was easy to surmise these builders were revered. Even to Palmer, who'd seen thousands of ruins and was moved by none of them, the site was impressive.

A crumbled portico led them into a columned courtyard. At the center of the superstructure was a set of steps leading down to a series of chambers. Elaborate etchings marked every column, faded limestone that persisted through millennia of stand storms.

The splendor of the ruins was only slightly mitigated by its modern trappings. Researchers had installed walkways in the substructure for convenient traversal. On the surface, a chain-link ceiling capped the columns, limiting erosion and other acts of gods and men.

Obi-Wan wiped his face with a rag. "Start talking, Quinn."

"Funereal structure," the reptilian surmised. "This was built for a dead Architect. Whether or not his body's actually here."

Palmer looked at his compass. "The orientation: it's perfectly north to south. Same as Halm's structures."

"What does that mean?" Padme asked.

"It means this is a Mercian site. Levolent temples are oriented east to west."

Obi-Wan wondered how he knew that, but he couldn't bear the semantic game that would ensue if he asked. He squatted down by a pillar, reading the inscription Quinn translated on the Tangent: _You are the echo_. "Coda, I need an analysis."

She ran her scanner along the carving. Her confounded gasp brought everyone over. "This etching is only 19 years old."

"Robbers?" asked Landon. "Some dumb kid?"

"Not likely," Coda said. "Our old security measures were... severe."

Obi-Wan asked, "Is there anything else? Compounds, tools—anything unusual?"

Coda shook her head. "Standard chisel. No anomalies."

"Then our answers lie elsewhere. Coda, Palmer, Padme: see what you can find up here. Quinn, Landon: with me."

"You got it, Boss," Landon said.

Brummel smirked at not being ordered. Good: the Jedi was learning. He strolled back to the portico and let the punishing sun work at his visage.

Obi-Wan walked down the stairs to the substructure. At the bottom began the artificial walkway installed by modern explorers. A granite ramp and durasteel railings terminated one foot from the walls on each side of the corridor. Elaborate pictograms completely surrounded them. It was like being inside a ritual text, reducing Obi-Wan's crew to small roles in a greater myth.

On the ceiling was a star chart. From what Obi-Wan could tell, the planet positions were outdated by millions of years. Embedded throughout the chart were humanoid figures in black or white robes, each figure associated with a given planet. The black figures were clustered in particular areas. As were the white figures.

"I know a war map when I see it," Obi-Wan said.

In his mind, Quinn approximated stellar drift to identify the planets. His fascinated grunt echoed through the corridor. "Coruscant," he pointed. "It was Levolent territory."

Landon said, "I could've used that in court. 'The devil made me do it.'"

"There's always next time," Obi-Wan said. "Come on. Keep moving."

When they reached the second corridor, he noted how it abruptly fanned out, measuring eight meters wider than its counterpart. In all likelihood, Mareth's kingship changed hands during construction, and the new ruler had a different vision for the temple.

The art style was different, too. It more closely resembled modern art, though the methods and materials still matched the first corridor.

Obi-Wan failed to fashion a story from the images. He couldn't even tell if the art was sequential. "Any idea what we're looking at?"

"I think this guy's using the john," Landon said.

Quinn gestured to a drawing of primitive men in loin cloths carrying a white-robed man on some kind of stretcher. The man's hands were folded on his chest, and resting on them was a thorny blue flower. "Desert ganza. They posed it on the dead, so the gods could follow the smell and retrieve their soul before it withered and died."

"I could've used one of those, a long time ago," Landon said.

Obi-Wan creased his face thoughtfully. "A Mercian. This is his tomb. I wonder how he died."

"I'm gonna guess it wasn't old age," Landon said. "But he must've been big time, or they wouldn't have built this."

Quinn said, "The imbecile is correct..."

"Thanks—hey, wait a second!"

"He appears to be a member of the ruling council. You can tell by his gold wrist gauntlets."

Obi-Wan suddenly had a thought. Coda's memory had been wiped, but could she still retain an inkling of the knowledge she'd lost? Perhaps seeing an image would spark her subconscious, surface something that happened thousands of years ago. "Landon, go see if they've found anything. And bring Coda back with you."

"Will do. Be careful, Boss. Who knows what's down here?"

Obi-Wan touched his arm. "The only ghosts who can hurt me aren't in this chamber."

* * *

"All this time, academics treated these as religious sites," Padme mused. "It makes me wonder. There's millions of creation myths.."

Coda studied her scanner readings. "It's all one myth, Padme."

"What's that?"

"Once there was a void, and every soul slept. And then someone woke up. In generosity or loneliness, he gave everyone a time when they would wake, too. Our only quarrel is why he did it."

"Why do you think he did it?" Padme asked.

"Because he's afraid of the dark," Coda said.

Landon climbed the steps from the substructure. He wore a smile on his soot-covered face. "Coda! Boss man wants—"

Brummel turned from the portico, striding toward them. "Coda—Amidala—time to pack up," he said in a grim monotone.

"What's going on?" Padme demanded. Then she heard a rumble, coming fast from a distance, that she'd later discover was thirty-five men.

Brummel said, "We're about to have guests. Gather up the horses; ride two miles due east. We'll find you when it's done."

"We're not going to leave you!" cried Coda. "Hand me a blaster!"

Padme tried her comlink before remembering it didn't work here. She dashed for the stairs—stymied by Brummel.

"Let me go!"

"I won't abide your ego," Brummel said coldly. "Do you wanna play soldier—or do you want your friends to live?"

Landon winced at the way Padme's face fell. "Padme, you're the bravest woman I've ever met, but this isn't your fight. Yours either, Coda. I'll watch their backs. That's a promise."

Panic and fear disrupted logic. She simply _wouldn't_ leave Obi-Wan. Nothing and no one could command her to move.

"We're staying," said Padme. "We can _help_."

The disgust on his face almost staggered her. Brummel deployed his claws with a snarl. "Coda, stick to my shadow if you wanna live. Amidala: go find Prince Charming. You're his problem."

Palmer laughed. His saber snap-hissed.

* * *

Obi-Wan and Quinn entered the burial chamber. At the center of the chamber lay the Mercian's sarcophagus, resting in a burial pit roped off by researchers. The sarcophagus should have been the color of dust. But its granite facade gleamed like new.

"Someone beat us here," Obi-Wan said.

"Vorka?" Quinn wondered.

"Well, it certainly wasn't Maul."

Obi-Wan raised his lantern to assess the five pillars flanking the chamber walls. Whatever story belonged there was defaced from existence. He crouched down, throwing light along the floor. "The debris's still here. This just happened."

Quinn concluded, "Vorka's men found something. And they don't want us following. But how did Vorka know we were coming here?"

Obi-Wan assumed the saboteur, having lost his Sith allies, struck a deal with Vorka. But how did they do it right under his nose?

"I wish I knew," he said.

Obi-Wan returned to the sarcophagus. Its halcyon face, recessed in granite, stared back at him like a father he was cursed to never know. Its nose was chipped off, and its narrow eyes were placed too high, driving attention to generous cheeks. Below its jawline, a scantly carved neck connected to a chest adorned with a coat of arms.

"A serpent and a tree," Obi-Wan said.

"Like the drawing of the Mercy Seat."

Obi-Wan skimmed the small crack between the lid and container. He pulled on the lid, which didn't budge. "There's a lock—on the _inside_. Vorka's men couldn't breach it."

He forced the lock with a mere thought. Quinn joined him in removing the lid. They were halfway done when a sweaty, breathless Padme stumbled into the chamber.

"Obi-Wan!"

"What's wrong?"

"We're about to have company! I don't know how many!"

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. "Stay here with Quinn."

"Stay here?!" Padme scoffed. "What if they knock the whole structure down?!"

"They'd need a tank to do that. Tanks don't work in the Dead Zone. But _blasters_ do—so hunker down."

"Where are _you_ going?" Quinn demanded.

"To take their coats," Obi-Wan said.

* * *

The Doom Cavalry was so named for its cruel inevitability. Over eight years, it amassed a bloody resume with only one blemish: its battle with The Sentinel. Today, it intended to avenge that debasement.

Proto Dragan would set a child on fire just to see what it looked like. His Arkanian blood might have predicted it. Their perceived superiority diminished their valuation of all other beings. And it drove them to "self-improvements" so extreme that, in effect, they became new species.

Their glacial homeworld, Arkania, produced pallid skin and completely white eyes that were susceptible to heat. When Dragan was seven, his mother cut out his eyes and replaced them with implants. She said a child will learn his nature if he has no way to cry.

That wasn't his only modification. Dragan removed his middle fingers, replacing them with blades. His feet were supplanted by hunter-droid variants. But most revolting was the venom sac he surgically installed. It protruded from his neck like a lumpy balloon. He'd re-sequenced his DNA so that his body produced poison: a gift from the Memory Master.

Flanking Dragan were Rim Shoda, a grizzled Palladuvian, and Alaric Black, a formidable human whose face had been reconstructed too many times to count. Behind them were thirty-two mercenaries.

"I want a clean sweep," Dragan told his men. "Beginning with the Sentinel."

Black said, "Leave _me_ Amidala."

"I will leave you nothing. Either take or wallow."

"Ye usin' too many wahds," Shoda said. "Pucha wahds 'way naw. Ees da blood wull speak."

Black's eyes rolled back. His wicked grin was the foyer of a grand aberration. "It will scream in the sand."

* * *

A lone horse stood in the portico.

Its furrowed eyes were deranged. Its ears twitched and flattened. The horse sniffed, whinnied, every feature on its face pointed at the cavalry.

"What's it doing?" asked Black.

The horse swished its tail. It stamped its front feet, then its hind. The head began to shake. It danced in place.

Black growled, "Someone shoot that fucking—"

The horse screamed like the devil and streaked right at him. Black lifted his gun. A blur of orange bisected his head. The upper segment fell into his lap. His eyes were no more empty for their new disconnection.

Now screams. Wailing. Flailing. Falling. The orange blur sliced and diced. Invisible forces threw men from their horses. Necks snapped on the ground. Flesh pieces were scattered like particles of glass.

Ten men were killed in a matter of seconds.

Brummel flickered into being as his stealth field exhausted. He cut a line up a merc from his crotch to his scalp. The pieces fell together like freshly cut meat.

" **Kill him**!" Dragan screamed.

Twenty-four blasters unleashed on Brummel. Bolt after bolt lit up the desert. Their aim was wild—a result of Brummel pervading their minds.

But the strong resisted. A bolt clipped his shoulder. He nearly fell from his horse. Soon he felt his scalp burning. Blood colored his hair, poured down his face.

Brummel broke for the ruins, Force-flicking blaster bolts safely away from him.

He sped threw the portico and leapt from his horse. Obi-Wan and Palmer were waiting in fighting stance.

Dragan's men poured into the ruins. He led the charge, bounding toward Brummel. His hunter-droid foot cracked Brummel in the face. It threw Brummel into a pillar, where his head smashed stone. He crawled drunkenly to safety behind the same column.

Dragan threw a kick; Obi-Wan dodged. The Jedi counter-punched—blocked by a finger-blade. Obi-Wan's knuckles opened to the bone. But his kick landed true and Dragan retreated.

Coda and Landon were pinned down behind pillars. Limestone fragments exploded around them. The unceasing salvo made return-fire impossible.

Over by the portico, three mercs assembled an E-Web Cannon.

Obi-Wan blanched. If that cannon deployed, his crew was dead.

His ensuing Force-leap was thwarted by Shoda. The albino's tackle wiped him from the sky. Obi-Wan thudded the earth and tumbled to the stairs.

Palmer ran at the cannon. Three men intercepted. A horizontal slash halved two at the abdomen. The third man drew a sword. He cocked it near his head—which was swiftly severed.

Palmer saw Dragan rushing him. He caught the severed head and Force-threw it at Dragan. The Arkanian batted it away and stabbed Palmer in the arm. Skin and muscle acceded to the blade. It scraped his bone and Palmer screamed. He screamed again when a blaster ruined his leg.

Brummel's leaping kick knocked Dragan off him. His eyes widened when he saw the E-Web completed. "Kenobi: get them outta here!"

In seconds the E-Web would be locked and loaded. Four mercs descended on Landon and Coda.

Obi-Wan sprinted into a leap and from there into a roll, arcing his blade through two men's thighs. Then he killed a third merc by deflecting his blaster.

The final merc swung his gun. Obi-Wan dodged and took it from his hands. He fired point-blank at the pleading killer. Flesh, teeth, and bloody bone nuggets drew patterns in the air.

Shoda blocked Brummel's path to the E-Web. The Sentinel seethed in his skeleton mask. With he and Obi-Wan occupied, Dragan led five mercs unseen to the substructure.

* * *

Padme climbed into the sarcophagus. She lay back as ordered but cried: "You can't take them alone! You need my help!"

"Rely on your Jedi protector," Quinn quoted back to her.

Her heart blasted in her chest. Yet it swelled even so. He closed the sarcophagus and she locked it inside.

Quinn's lightsaber activated. Beneath his feet he could feel their approach. He lifted his saber to a high-guard position. Its calming buzz balanced against broiling blood. Jedi Knight, Trandoshan warrior: he did not have to choose.

Mercs rushed into the chamber. He threw one to the wall. He blocked a sword overhead. His head bobbed to dodge a punch, then delivered a headbutt.

Getting leverage on the swordsman, Quinn propelled him over the sarcophagus to the bottom of the burial pit. A dagger thrust into his side. Quinn growled and turned and ran him through with his saber.

He ripped out the dagger and quickly retreated. The four mercs and Dragan backed him to a corner. Quinn thrust his claws in a powerful Force-push. All but Dragan tumbled to the floor.

Dragan shouldered him into the wall. Quinn's body made divots in the rock. He swung his saber at the merc's exposed back. But Dragan spun out—hacking off Quinn's wrist with his finger-blade.

Dragan flourished his blade in utter arrogance. Quinn's remaining hand caught his saber as it fell, proceeding in an upward arc that severed Dragan's arm.

Quinn followed with a Force-push, sending Dragan to the wall. The other mercs flanked him, two on each side.

Quinn rushed the left flank. He struck one with his stump, then kicked him in the head, hard enough that he died on impact. The second merc grabbed his good arm. Quinn flicked his wrist and cut a valley through his skull.

The other mercs attacked in tandem. Quinn threw his saber like a javelin through one merc's chest.

He leapt at the other, pulled him to the floor. He clawed the merc's eyes. Blood spurted from the sockets. The screaming man writhed. Quinn's teeth sank into his face. He ripped out a mouthful of muscle and tendon.

Quinn spat it to the side. He recalled his saber and stood to face Dragan.

"Where were we?" Quinn hissed.

Dragan rolled out a smoke grenade. He lunged through the mist, slashed at Quinn's neck. Slowed by pain, Quinn drunkenly dodged, saving his head but suffering a gash.

Quinn stumbled to the sarcophagus. Dragan followed. He missed a hammer and Quinn missed a swing. Both missed with forearms and entered a grapple. Quinn got the upper-hand before a brutal kick shattered his knee.

Dragan dragged him to the ground. His sweaty, sticky hand closed on his throat. Quinn thrashed about—grunting—choking.

Inside the sarcophagus, Padme pulled at her hair. She listened to the Jedi sputter and choke. She couldn't let it happen. She wouldn't let him die.

Padme released the lock. She used all her strength to force open the lid.

She fell out of the sarcophagus, fumbling to her feet. Dragan had stood. He was covered in blood. More bones in his face were broken than not. Padme's eyes flew to his venom sac. It throbbed, pulsated, evacuating venom from the sac to his mouth.

"Open up!" Dragan growled.

Padme screamed.

Quinn's saber flashed on. He cut a line through the sac. Greenish red venom poured on Quinn like a vomiting demon. He screamed and screamed. Smoke rose from his torso as the venom burned through, entered his bloodstream.

Dragan staggered to his knees. His own venom covered him. He was choking on it, too, a low rumbling cry struggling to escape.

"Open up," Quinn hissed between screams.

He stabbed his saber through Dragan's mouth. It disintegrated his tongue and uvula and burst out the back of his neck.

The blade disappeared. Dragan fell.

Padme knelt beside Quinn. Tears made tracks down her cheeks as she saw his condition. Quinn's tunic had burned, revealing his chest, which was quickly swelling, boils marking his reddening skin.

"Oh, Quinn..."

* * *

All their were horses were dead. Escape wasn't possible. Coda huddled behind an eroding pillar. The E-Web chewed through it like a tunneling mynok.

Obi-Wan, Brummel improvised a dodging, deflecting dance. Tunics, flesh were torn from close calls. Sweat and blood poured from their brows. E-Web bolts were too powerful to reflect. They could only deflect them into dirt, walls.

Shoda and his men grinned from safety. "Getcha god rahdy. Dat bright lighta be busy."

The ravaged pillar exploded on Coda. Blood veiled the world, and she asked mercy from her maker.

"Stay behind me!"

Her angry angel held off death. Brummel caught red bolts all along his blade. Two hit at once—bending his blade to his neck—carving a line up the side to his ear. His jaw clenched; his grip trembled; but he didn't falter.

Still the mercs smelled blood. The E-Web concentrated all fire on Brummel.

Obi-Wan closed the distance to the mercs with a Force-fueled sprint, leaping in the air, flipping when he peaked, and launching himself at the E-Web gunners. He Force-flung one, watching, hearing his head crack stone, and spiked the other gunner's heart as he landed.

Obi-Wan commandeered the E-Web. He unleashed it on the mercs.

Screaming. Shredding. Heads snapped and exploded. Limbs disappeared. Bodies ripped in half, uprooting entrails. Blood sprayed and sprayed like party sparklers. Together with smoke, it misted the carnage.

Obi-Wan dissembled their screaming silhouettes, marking them players for his unceasing dream theater, memorizing their marionette mambo. Not a single man died whole of body.

The Jedi relented when the smoke went silent.

He leaned back on his heels, hands dropped to his sides. His eyes unfocused and his breath came shallow.

A merc charged from the smoke. Obi-Wan was in his sights.

Skull and brain erupted in the air. The merc dropped dead, revealing Landon behind him, smirking behind his smoking blaster.

"You okay, Boss?"

Suddenly Shoda was rushing him. A sword swung down. Landon strafed, saving his head, traded for a gash from his shoulder to his wrist. The scoundrel crumpled. Shoda kept running. The merc eyed his horse ten meters away.

He was halfway there when an invisible force lifted him in the air and slammed him to the ground. His ribs snapped like flimsy branches.

A placid child stood in the portico. His hand was outstretched in suggestion of the Force. Something timeless, celestial churned in his eyes, moored his seraphic face to light eternal.

Shoda wheezed, coughed, reached for his blaster. A gray wolf sprang seemingly from nowhere, lunging at Shoda's throat. Its pearl-white teeth ripped to the bone. Shoda's sharp cry barely preceded his feckless death.

The wolf turned its head at Obi-Wan, muzzle curled back, blood and sinew filling its mouth. Obi-Wan blinked, still overcome, and wondered if he was dreaming upon hearing a proper voice.

"Greetings and salutations," said the wolf.

Obi-Wan stared at him. "Well... hello there."

"My name is Wilk. And my over-eager companion is Galen Marek."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi..."

Galen stood over Shoda's body, contemplating eternity. Wilk told him once there's no such thing as cosmic justice. The wicked plummet not after death, as the righteous do not ascend.

The little boy turned to Obi-Wan to be thoroughly scrutinized. His sand-beaten clothes, looking several years old, clung to his outline in defiance of his growth. Galen's face was smooth, undeterred by the scene in front of him, and he wasn't worried to surmise what Obi-Wan had done; indeed, the glint in his eyes was warm and friendly.

"Are you okay, Mister Kenobi?" Galen asked.

Obi-Wan steadied himself mentally. He hurried to Palmer, who lay cradling his leg.

Before he could render aid, Padme appeared screaming. "Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!"

"Padme! Where's Quinn?"

She pawed the tears from her cheeks. "He's—he's—"

The Jedi's eyes widened. He leapt down the steps, disappeared inside.

Padme buried her face in her palms.

" _Do you wanna play soldier—or do you want your friends to live?"_


	37. Conduit to the Scorekeeper

There was no such thing as a failed experiment. A disproved hypothesis was as precious as anything. Thus the Memory Master smiled gaily at the eryops corpse floating before him. So exquisite was death that even poetry failed to render its meaning.

He couldn't tear his eyes away, not even when his lab admitted a guest.

"My plan is proceeding perfectly," Sidious said. "Soon Aayla Secura will fall to the Dark Side. Then you will lure her here to complete the memory transfer."

"I will not," said the Master as he admired divine death.

Sith yellow fringed the eyes of Sidious' young vessel. Dark power stood ready in the shadow of his voice. " _You_ do not refuse _me_."

Finally, the Master broke from his prize. "The arrogance of humans," he sighed. "You mistake me for a servant. What I did for you, I did for the joy of it. The challenge. Understand, Emperor Sidious: you were merely a jester, performing for my amusement."

Sidious raged, rushed. But without the Force to add speed, his assault was preempted. The red dot of the Master's pistol marked Sidious' forehead.

The emperor's rage slunk back in the shadows. "You will regret this," he said.

The Master smiled. A new hypothesis. "We will see in time."

* * *

Obi-Wan knelt beside his friend, prone on the chamber floor. Quinn's feral eyes glowed in the lantern light. His tunic was half-burned away, revealing his chest, which was charcoal-black from third-degree burns. The scales had melted into one black mass.

Sadness, revulsion ripped a shriek out of Obi-Wan. "Oh, Quinn... my old friend..."

"I am humbled you count me so," the reptile mumbled.

Obi-Wan's eyes spilled silent tears. "How bad is the pain?"

"The nerve endings were destroyed. I feel... strange."

Obi-Wan stood. He wiped his face on his tunic. "We'll get you to Julian. Hold on—I'll need help moving you."

Padme and Quinn found themselves alone. She stood first at a distance, like he was fire or spikes, before gingerly crouching by the Jedi's shoulder.

"How have you—" Her small voice faltered. "How are you still—"

"I have slowed my metabolism, thereby slowing the poison."

She didn't know Trandoshans could do that. There was _much_ she didn't know, about them or him. Perhaps if she'd cared to, their rapport would be different.

She took Quinn by the shoulders, pulled him to her lap. Aggravation, disgust: she searched for these things. But they were not tendered. "Why did you do this?" Padme whispered.

To Quinn, it was obvious. That the answer eluded her brought gentle amusement. "Because I am a Jedi, and you are the senator from Naboo."

Padme's eyes slipped shut. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She squeezed his claw.

Obi-Wan returned, Landon at his side.

"Holy God," said Landon.

* * *

Coda splinted Palmer's leg using armor from a corpse. The enigmatic archaeologist was resting comfortably.

Now she sat with a field kit tending to Brummel. The gash on his neck, made by his own saber, would scar unmistakably. Forever he'd carry his choice to defend her.

Coda gently applied bacta, followed by a bandage. She withdrew with a caress, earning a strange look she didn't bother to interpret. That he felt anything but resentment toward her was a miracle of insight, to say nothing of his fierce defense.

"My angry angel," Coda breathed. "Why do you not hate me?"

Brummel looked off, and she wondered if he knew it was just as revealing. The infinite panorama that was his sorrow did not end in profile. He said, "I cannot hate that which I aspire to be."

Obi-Wan and Landon carried Quinn up the stairs. They set him on the dirt beside Palmer. Coda and Brummel hurried to meet them.

"Oh my God," Coda said. "We have to get back to Cuimhn."

"He'll never make it," said Brummel.

"He'll _make it_ ," Padme growled.

Obi-Wan called one of the mercenaries' horses. "Landon, take Quinn and Palmer to the Tangent."

Palmer objected, "I've walked on worse. And you know you can't spare me."

"Nor can you spare the imbecile," Quinn hissed. Landon frowned but said nothing. "I will ride on my own. You must continue the mission."

Obi-Wan's penetrating stare failed at deterrence. "You counsel madness. You'll never make it on your own."

Quinn's head lifted at the corpses all around him. "Who will stop me?"

Obi-Wan blinked, releasing a breath. "Who indeed," he said thickly.

Landon took Quinn by his remaining arm. Together with Brummel, he lifted Quinn and swung him onto the horse. The Jedi slipped his clawed feet into the stirrups.

Padme moved to his side, a goulash of thoughts. From the moment on Halm when he challenged her presence, Padme had reduced him to a contemptible thing. Only now, too late to matter, did she realize his objections were not _to_ her but _for_ her. That failure of insight would soon sever fine fibers from the soul of the universe.

She swallowed and met his eyes. "Goodbye, Jedi."

Quinn bowed his head for the first time in his life. "Senator."

* * *

Shadows swathed the feint smile of Sidious. He stood, arms crossed, looking down on Prin, a permanent tableau of betrayal, misery, eyes filled once with oblivion now staring into it, rigor mortis struggling to unclench. The metal slab was a temporary station. After the autopsy, Vorka would report her death, delivering her body to the department of inquisition.

"How gently, how quietly young women die," Sidious mused. "Davit knows not what her death will mean."

Beside him, The Radical was feverishly intense. Sidious held back a grin. What a perfect instrument this demagogue was. For years, the Radical had fomented unrest, calling publicly for reform while plotting in secret Cuimhn's dissolution. Only his closest disciples knew what he planned.

"What will you do," asked Sidious, "when you've destroyed the current order?"

"We will build a new one, centered on dignity. The ruling class will be stripped of its wealth. Equal shares will be given to the people."

"Some will refuse to let go of the old way."

The Radical glowered. "They will _learn_ ,or be purged. We won't allow _hate_ to disrupt our future."

There is nothing, thought Sidious, quite like the young. How easily, and shamelessly, they shroud themselves in the cassock of ignorant indignation. The young feel they've invented everything, except the scourge of oppression, which ever-changes form like the whims of a changeling, pervading every aspect of every thing that they want for themselves. Thus the true scourge, which they might've once known, becomes a needle in a haystack.

Sidious offered a pansophic smile. "You are very wise, sir."

He reached into his coat, producing a data chip. "Here is my droid's recording of the incident. When you are ready to broadcast, my R2 unit will patch you into the holo-news. Everyone in Cuimhn will see your message."

The Radical held it in his palm like life itself. "And what about you?"

Sidious blinked at his reflection. He raised a finger to his jaw. "I think I'll slip into something more comfortable."

* * *

The Radical stood, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for the droid to signal he was live. The nondescript basement would conceal his whereabouts, but his face would be plain to all of Cuimhn. There was no going back. He'd spark a revolution or die a fool.

His commlink beeped. The Radical was live. He stared into the camera with steely resolve.

"Good evening. Last night, Davit Vorka held a private affair for elites at his residence. At approximately 2200 hours, his receptacle—Prin Gareth—suffered 'The Schism.' That's a sanitized way to say she went insane." The Radical was split-screened with R2's recording. "Approximately one hour later, Mister Vorka harvested her memories and had her killed. _This_ is the reality of our immoral system."

The Radical snarled. His voice was electric. "For far too long, we've worked within its parameters to try to achieve change. That time is _over_. Civil disobedience is a vaccine against change, created by oppressors to preserve their power. Mareth cannot be reformed. It must be burned to the ground. Every day, we give away pieces of ourselves: precious memories we will never recover. Our literal identity is ceded to elites. And what do they offer? Callous indifference. Social violence. Prin Gareth is only the _latest_ receptacle killed by her employer. How many must die before we say _no more_?

"Let us, together, make Prin Gareth the last. Tonight, I ask you to join a movement _to take_ what we are due. Blood will be shed, but our tears will not. We will save them to consecrate our monuments to victims.

"Tonight begins the struggle to destroy this system. And we start with its creator. The man whose cruel imagination conceived our misery. Tonight, we will kill The Memory Master."

* * *

Julian sank heartsick in his chair, as the Radical's missive played on a monitor. Mareth's economy was repulsive, but the Radical's elixir could prove far worse. He'd seen it too many times on too many planets.

And what of The Memory Master?

Julian tapped his comlink. "R2, are you seeing this?"

He awaited response when a proximity alert blasted through the Tangent. His eyes snapped to a monitor. It showed Quinn on a horse, going limp then tumbling from it.

Julian gasped. He grabbed his kit and bombed through the corridor. "R2! Get me a bloody stretcher!"

He deployed the ramp, leaping to the bottom. Julian dropped to Quinn's side where an arm should have been. He opened Quinn's eyelids, finding his normally yellow eyes a fiery orange. A bad sign. The _worst_ sign.

R2 brought the stretcher. Julian shook his head to clear it. His wiry frame trembled as he pulled Quinn to the stretcher. "Not today," he said through gritted teeth.

* * *

Padme stood in the portico, watching the horizon where Quinn had disappeared. All was calm, and quiet, and still.

Horses stood undirected, waiting on their masters' successors. The worst of a dozen races littered the sand. Bodies were cleaved, limbs mangled. In the midst of it all, she suffered not a scratch.

" _Do you wanna play soldier—or do you want your friends to live?"_

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked. Gentle pressure on her shoulder made her face him. He took her far-off stare as concern for their friend. "Don't give up on him, Padme. His pertinacity may yet be put to good."

There was no time to waste contending with her guilt. So it was paramount not to show it. Padme forced herself to nod, smiling tightly.

Obi-Wan took both her hands, pressing a kiss to them. "There could be more coming. We can't stay here." He walked from the portico to Wilk and Galen.

The erudite wolf lifted his head. "Mister Kenobi, my deepest regrets for your friend's discomfiture." When Obi-Wan struggled to respond, Wilk growled bemusedly. "Forgive my sapience. I have neither means nor compulsion to explain it. But with sincere expectation, I offer friendship."

"Accepted," Obi-Wan said. "Where did you come from?"

"We are travelers, wandering among the camps of the Badlands. Resting when needed, being merry when possible. But swiftly departing, before providence frowns or local well wishes are totally exhausted."

"Are you running from something?" Obi-Wan asked.

"People wanna use me," little Galen said.

Obi-Wan tilted his head. Use him for what? He placed a hand on Galen's shoulder, moving to eye level, before Padme's voice stopped him.

"Obi-Wan? There's something in that sarcophagus."

* * *

There was no match for the toxin in Republic files. Mareth's records were no help either. That meant no antidote. And there wasn't time for him to find one. Quinn had only hours when that would take weeks.

Julian returned to Quinn's bed. He forced a cheery voice: "I trust the other guy is a sight worse off."

"He is dead," Quinn said.

"Well, I'd say that qualifies."

He'd made the reptile as comfortable as he could. On his head was a hot compress. Bacta soothed him where he'd lost his arm. Yet every breath he had to fight for.

Quinn's eyes were strange, like he was dreaming with them open. He lifted his claw. Julian puzzled before he realized he should take it.

"Doctor," Quinn hissed, "there is something you must know. It must not die with me."

"None of that quitter talk," Julian chided.

"You must _listen_ , Doctor. I am a Jedi in my mind, and in my soul. But my heart is Trandoshan. And it once belonged to one named Draka."

"Your wife?"

"Marriage is arranged. The heart is not involved. Draka was something else: my conduit to the Scorekeeper."

The Trandoshan goddess, Julian recalled. Appeased by acts of valor and strength. "But you were married also," he said.

"Yes. She birthed eight children."

"Where are they now?"

"They are dead," Quinn said. "Their eggs were in a hatchery, in my hovel on Trandosha. After a great hunt, I did not return home. Instead I had decided to offer Draka my heart. I do not remember her answer—that is the memory I gave for your data." His claw squeezed, cutting Julian's hand, but the doctor didn't move. "I returned at nightfall to a hovel in ruins. My wife's charred corpse was hung for inspection. Seven eggs were destroyed. Only one had survived."

Julian's forehead creased. Pain wormed in his stomach. "God damn, mate..."

"Her name is Reetra," Quinn said, "and she walks her own path. Never to intersect the one chosen by her father."

Only a hint of emotion tinged his voice, but to the doctor it was enough. Julian had taken enough confessions, all from a deathbed. He could make this something else, though. If he saved Quinn's life, all these words would amount to a friendship.

"There's no such thing as never," Julian said. "We have to get you to the Memory Master. With his help, I think we can beat this."

"Bweeeeeep."

R2 drew their attention to the holo-news. Cuimhn was burning. A giddy multitude poured through its glowing viscera like a swarm of bees provoked to their purpose. The sluggish response of the constable's office condemned to smoldering ruins the business district. Stores were looted; monuments toppled; and elites cowered indoors while swearing allegiance.

"That's about right," Julian said bleakly.

Quinn beseeched him, "You cannot venture there. You are too important."

"If I don't, you'll die."

"I know."

Julian held his gaze, reckoning with Quinn's resolute aura. In watching men die, the doctor had observed that the strength of one's principles correlate to the breaths that are left in his body. Yet he also observed that a precious few were different. And for this he loved them.

Julian turned to R2. "Get the stretcher ready: maximum stasis. And stay on your comm. I'll need your help to chart a path around the riots. Meet me at the ramp in five minutes. I'm headed to the armory."

"Doctor?" Julian turned at Quinn's voice.

Ice-cold eyes had heated lukewarm. "I am glad you're not a Jedi."


	38. Fist in the Firelight

Wilk rose on his hind legs, peering into the sarcophagus. Inside was a mummified body with an elaborate sigil woven into the wrappings. "It would be a lesser encroachment to rob his descendants."

Palmer said, "Death, by definition, nullifies disruption."

"All the same," said Obi-Wan, "we shall be respectful."

Coda studied the sigil: a tree with human-like veins coursing through the branches, contained within a spheroid. It took only a moment to spark her memory. "It belongs to the first order of the gods."

"In historical terms: the Mercian Council," said Palmer.

Wilk interjected, "This symbol is known to me."

Obi-Wan snapped to attention. "How?"

"At a camp in the Dead Zone, a Mandalorian showed me a rubbing transfer, from a monument denoted 'The Dream Chamber.''

Coda and Palmer gave no sign of recognition. But that didn't mean there was nothing to it. Indeed, for all Obi-Wan knew, his older iteration may be lurking about there. "What is The Dream Chamber?" Obi-Wan asked.

"I am not apt to attempt conjecture," replied Wilk, "but I would find you an audience that you might rightfully adjure."

Obi-Wan's jaw set, and he turned to the exit. "There's daylight yet. And plenty of horses."

"More desert. How wonderful," Coda mumbled to herself.

* * *

When a populace rebels, nothing and no one can quell the attempt. Security forces gunned down dissidents. Row after row fell in heaps. But there were always more. And each wave was angrier for the fate of the one before it.

The horde pressed relentlessly until finally overwhelming superior arms. They dragged security to the ground. Taking their guns. Bashing their skulls.

Improvised grenades left everything burning. Angry silhouettes stood atop speeders, pumping fists in the firelight. Teens raided stores for clothing, games. Suspected loyalists—judged so at a glance—were dragged and murdered.

Julian sprinted through the streets, a smoking graveyard.

"Turn into the alley—then a left at the junction," R2 said through his comlink.

Julian obliged, Quinn's stretcher beside him. Ahead in the alley were two rioters with homemade grenades.

"Look at that: a fuckin' loyalist!" The rioter raised his explosive. Julian drew his gun and blasted the grenade. Both rioters burst into flames. They bucked and screamed. Grasping at air.

The doctor hurried past. He turned at the junction.

A thug leapt out, pinned him to the wall. Julian raised his gun. The thug grabbed his wrist. He slammed it on the wall. The blaster fell. The thug threw a punch. Julian dodged but too slowly. The fist smashed his ear.

He was thrown to the ground. The thug mounted him. Julian threw him off. He scrambled to his knees—before taking a boot. Julian screamed as his shoulder popped from its socket.

The thug leapt to mount him. Julian rolled from his path. He lifted his shoulder then slammed it on the ground. The cruel pavement put it back in its socket.

The thug kicked him in the side. Once—twice. Three times more. Julian rolled to the stretcher. The thug lifted his boot.

Julian kicked his other leg out from under him. The thug cracked his head on the stretcher as he fell. He landed prone near the doctor, dead or unconscious.

Julian blinked back pain tears. His comlink crackled in shuddering grasp: "W—where now, R2?" Silence. Static. "Come in, R2! R2-D2, are you there?!"

* * *

Sidious smiled as he entered the Tangent. Faithful R2 was there to receive him. The droid had tipped him off that Aayla was alone. Things would have been simpler with the Master's willing aid. But he still had a path to victory. Along it he'd destroy the seditious scientist.

"Have you established a link to The Memory Master's database?" Sidious asked.

"Affirmative."

"Copy everything to the Tangent. Take care he does not discover you."

"I understand," R2 beeped.

Sidious reached out through the Force, or rather attempted to, before cynically remembering his vessel's limitations. But it wouldn't be long now. Soon his dominating will would have means to impose itself.

"Before you do," Sidious said. "let us give Knight Secura a push toward her potential."

Sidious monitored from the security station as R2 breached the lock and entered Aayla's quarters. The droid sealed himself in with her.

From her cross-legged pose, Aayla levitated, unfolding her legs so she came down standing. The choleric scrutiny that was now her default trained on R2. "What do you want?"

"His only desire is that he fulfill yours," Sidious said through the PA.

Aayla reached for her saber, grasping air. Obi-Wan had taken it when he confined her to quarters. Her wild, bloodshot stare fixed on the camera. "Who are you?! Where is Julian?!"

"The tedium of Jedi," Sidious sighed. "'Where are my friends? Please don't hurt them.' You care not for the answer; it is _dogma_ speaking through you. There's only one question that matters to _Aayla Secura_."

"You don't know anything about me!"

"Oh, I'm afraid I do," he mocked her. "Behold, little Jedi, the fate of Miler Crata."

Aayla snapped back as R2 projected a hologram. There in blue, scored with scan lines, was Miler's face behind glass. He was banging on a door, screaming, afraid.

_"Landon! You're killing me! Open the door! Open the bloody door!"_

_"I'm sorry," choked Landon._

_"Don't do this!" cried Miler._

_"There's only one tank. We'll never make it together."_

_"We can make it! I promise! We'll bloody make it, mate!"_

_"I can't take the chance."_

_"You son of a bitch! I will haunt you forever! Every moment, ya bloody—"_

_Blood sprayed on the window, misted in smoke. Miler's body dropped and vanished._

Color drained from her face. Her tentacles throbbed. She stumbled blindly, toppling a chair. She grasped for her bed. She came up short, crashing to the floor. Her hand flew to her chest. A sob wrenched free. "No! No—it's—it's a trick. You're _lying_."

"Search your feelings. _Face_ your pain."

"I won't believe it! I—I—"

"Landon Solo left him to die."

Aayla screamed. Force energy burst in every direction. Her desk tumbled to the door. Fissures formed in the walls. R2-D2 fell on his back.

Sidious' cackle echoed through the Tangent. And there was so much joy in it that it felt like his first. All his life he'd dragged the Force away from its will. But now he would do it as an ordinary man.

"Let me go! Open the door!" screamed Aayla.

"In time, little Jedi."

On the ceiling a durasteel vent suddenly rattled. Opal smoke squeezed through the grill, billowing through the room. Aayla hadn't time to guess what it was before her eyes felt very heavy and she collapsed to the floor. That horrible laugh was the last thing she heard before losing consciousness.

* * *

Obi-Wan marveled at Wilk sitting upright on his horse, paws on the reins. He felt there was much he could learn from him, starting with Meirleach.

Wilk said, "I can apprise you of the camp. But I invite discrete queries, lest I inevitably descant, testing the seams of your Jedi manners."

"What can you tell me about the Mandalorian?"

"That for being the fairer sex, she is no less formidable. The sheriff keeps peace with a gentle hand, until such time as disorder becomes unrelenting that he may need the Mandalorian."

Obi-Wan said, "Then why weren't you safe? Why was Galen in danger?"

"The fate of one child is beneath their concern."

"I've been to five hundred worlds, met thousands of children. Not one was beneath concern."

"We will see," said Wilk.

Padme stared unseeing at the horizon. Her lips, in their ludicrous purse, came close to her nose. Having never seen this expression, Landon pulled alongside her.

He watched her before saying: "It's honorable to wanna fight."

Padme said, "Those seeking honor are not honorable at all."

"Don't become Kenobi. Self-loathing doesn't suit you." Any mention of Obi-Wan would usually elicit _something_ , but her head didn't move. "If you want to fight, I'll teach you how. The basics, at least."

" _Amidala, go find Prince Charming."_

Padme swallowed. "Thank you, Landon."

Little Galen was asleep on Brummel's horse, leaning heavily on his arm. Coda rode alongside them. The sight of Brummel and the boy was unpredictably natural. She could picture them at a lake, little Galen being taught to skip stones, with Brummel wearing a smile she hadn't yet seen.

Coda would not deny there was murder in his soul. But it's in _all_ of our souls. That his was reaped made him no more wicked than an ordinary man. Could he ever believe that? Had he even tried to?

She watched him shift for Galen's comfort. "Have y'ever thought of bein' a dad?"

"I expect it's better my nature dies with me."

Something in his voice wasn't right. But she didn't know what. "I admire your convictions: all except that one."

"What did I do to earn your faith?"

"You didn't earn it," Coda said. "It simply is you did nothing to lose it."

Brummel was pale. Every second breath seemed to fail to reach his lungs. "There was a time I thought differently," he said after a silence. "About being a father."

"What happened?"

"It didn't work out," Brummel said thickly.

* * *

Most of the encampments beyond Cuimhn existed in little corners of dead cities. Meirleach was unique in that it filled the husk of an old strip mall. Through the years, they'd expanded, fashioning scrap into homes, trading posts, and disreputable watering holes. All it took to fulfill a dream was reliable labor. Thus patriarchs and matriarchs, for whom such labor was free, dominated the camp's barter economy.

Meirleach's power families had little interest in authority. They were content to live comfortably and to let live all others. The camp's unique stew of prosperity and lawlessness made it a hub for ruffians. Criminals and bounty hunters flowed in and out.

Wilk had warned Obi-Wan of a few in particular. Topping the list were brothers Sligo and Chulaain, gun-slinging Sarkhai who worked for the highest bidder. Yet they aspired to be more than mercs and, for reasons unclear to Obi-Wan, believed they needed Galen.

At the fringes of town, Wilk warned them: "I am very sensible that contention is your custom, but I hope in this matter you find abstinence agreeable. Let us bow our heads, and strike no enmity, before reaching the Sheriff."

Landon said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't cause trouble," Obi-Wan translated.

"God damn—is that really what he said? It's like he's padding an essay."

Padme smiled to herself. She pulled her horse alongside Obi-Wan's, feeling that together they could honor Wilk's mandate.

Obi-Wan's crew trotted up main street, into the heart of the old strip mall. The acrylic signs had been removed, but grimy outlines remained: Grotto's Collectibles, Twi'lek Twilight, Meirleach Electronics.

Surrounding them were street vendors hocking their wares. Blaster parts and trinkets, mended metal and mynok meat. A Tired Young Lady sat stoic at a kissing booth.

Sellers, patrons froze in place, casting dubious glances at the Jedi's party. But more than anyone, they were focused on Galen. Expressions of sympathy, avarice. Among some, perhaps, even scornful countenance.

Brummel felt the boy stiffen and looped an arm around him.

Sligo and Chulaain emerged, wearing blasters on their hips. The louder, more brutish one, Sligo's face was tattooed with the markings of a night stalker. On one cheek was a long scar.

"Welcome back, Wilk," Sligo said. The wolf bared his teeth silently. "And you brought your little friend," the gunslinger grinned. "I had him before. This time, I will keep him." Sligo ran a finger along his scar. "And you'll pay your debt, you unholy beast. As god as my witness, I will—"

Landon drew his gun and blew his head off.

Sligo's corpse rocked on its heels before falling supine. Chulaain cried out. Stupefied, revolted, he didn't even think to reach for his blaster. The crowd froze also.

"I hate grandstanding," Landon said.

Obi-Wan drew a breath slowly. So much for bowed heads. Landon had painted a picture of who they were, and to stray would be dangerous. "If there are others who'd have the child," Obi-Wan said, "let it be known your life is forfeit."

The townspeople scattered, making a path for the horses.

Obi-Wan's crew went forth, passing Chulaain, still riveted where he was.

"At least he died before god," Brummel said savagely.

* * *

Julian staggered through the street. Pain rippled through his shoulder with the shock of every step. The grip on his blaster grew ever-tighter.

Straight ahead was the abandoned factory that secreted entry to the Master's world. Julian stole a glance at Quinn in stasis. The reptilian's face was frozen in peace.

Julian cried out. He was suddenly on his stomach. A hand wrenched at his blaster. Julian fired on instinct, felling his attacker.

He rolled on his back. Another Rodian lunged. Julian's blaster exploded its jaw. Teeth dispersed like tossed pebbles. The tapir-like snout became angel hair pasta.

Julian turned on his side, screaming in pain. He grabbed the stretcher and pulled himself standing.

He stumbled the rest of the way to the factory.

The stretcher's stasis field flickered and failed. It wasn't meant for extended use. The stretcher now useless, he pulled Quinn to his feet. The Jedi growled, blinking awake. His slung his one arm over Julian's shoulder.

They entered the elevator through the holographic wall.

"Almost there," the doctor promised.

"I fear you are correct."

The doors whooshed open. They staggered down a corridor to the Master's lab.

The Master smiled at the eryops clinging to life inside a tank. It was a moment of discovery, unquenched curiosity versus thirst insatiable. Was it the breakthrough he sought, or simply uncommon will? Every being seeks survival in greater or less degree, but none more than non-sentients, who lack all notion of quality of life.

His console exploded, flashing sparks in his face. He leapt from his chair, blinking furiously. "What is the meaning of this?"

"We don't have time for your bullshit," Julian said. "Quinn needs your help. He's been poisoned."

"By what?"

Quinn said, "An unhallowed atrocity disguised as man."

The Master thought for a moment. "Ah, yes—Mister Bender, I believe. An amusing endeavor."

Julian pictured a crater in the bastard's skull. "If you created it, that means you have the counter-agent."

"Somewhere in my records," the Master allowed. "But I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Why not?!"

"Because it does not interest me."

Julian raised his blaster. "How about now?"

The Master's mouth pinched inward. Was there no civility remaining among men? "Doctor, he's dead already," the Master said.

"Let's try this another way," Julian glowered. "A thousand feet above you, there's a citywide uprising. And the people blame you. Any minute now, hundreds of revolutionaries will come for your blood." His grimly low voice suddenly exploded: "And I'll **make damn sure** you're here if you don't help me!"

The Master grew weary of lesser beings' threats. But he could suffer degradation for eventual pleasure. He moved to the console and searched his database. "It will take time to synthesize..."

The elevator thrummed, grinding up the shaft. It must've been called by someone on the surface. Dread unspooled in Julian's chest. It was too late. They were out of time. Quinn would die and he along with him.

The Master pulled back. "There's an escape hatch in my office. It leads to the catacombs. But we must leave _now_."

"Put the info on a data chip," Julian demanded. "We'll manufacture it on the Tangent."

"Doctor..." Julian whirled at Quinn, barely standing with the help of a table. Quinn's scaly face was a ghostly lime. He peered at the empty middle-distance like he saw an apparition. "That is too long to survive," Quinn said.

"Then we make a stand here."

"Your heart is Trandoshan," Quinn said fondly. "You have many battles ahead—but let this one be mine. I am ready for the Scorekeeper."

Julian swallowed through a bone-dry throat. His stricken heart reached through the Force like trembling fingers. "I'm sorry, Quinn," he said, and tears fell.

"I am not... my noble friend."

Julian clasped his arm, then followed The Master. Inside the office was a false floor panel. The Master triggered the invisible keypad. Blue light rimmed the panel and it promptly retracted, revealing a ladder to the catacombs.

Julian blocked him from entering.

"What are you doing?" The Master demanded.

"Give me one damn reason to let you live."

More degradation. There was only one play and The Master knew it. "Because Darth Sidious is on Mareth. And I know what he's planning."

Julian's jaw tightened. It could be deception, the last calibration of his liar's tongue. But he could afford to discover that later. He shoved the Master to the floor and followed him down the ladder.

The elevator stopped. Quinn listened to the rioters pour down the hall.

He freed his saber and it flashed from nothingness.

Capillaries of memory swelled and burst.

" _I will rely on my protectors."_

" _He who imitates good always falls a little short."_

" _You're a traitor!"_

" _Temptation is a fallacy. Fallen Jedi are only Sith the Dark Side didn't want yet."_

" _Neither Jedi nor Sith are proffered freedom."_

" _Tell me: what will our place be, when all of this is over?"_

" _He served with valor."_

" _Perhaps too much."_

" _What has been will always be. All the life in the universe is trapped in a loop."_

_"You are a Jedi, and a warrior. Soon you will be a father."_

_"Her name is Reetra."_

_"Oh, Quinn... my old friend."_

_"Goodbye, Jedi."_

Quinn's breath came ragged. Fear, rage polluted the Force.

A mob of ten rushed in. They destroyed everything around them. Glass shattered. Consoles exploded. Plastic and durasteel covered their clothes. Fire filled their eyes when they looked on Quinn. He saw no reason to inform them he wasn't The Master.

Two men fired blasters. The bolts were sent back, riving flesh from their skulls.

Quinn flicked his claw, throwing a rioter headlong through a window.

The next man lunged. Quinn flipped, landed behind him, and halved him at the shoulders. The upper half fell like a blood-covered bust.

Quinn's back exploded with pain. He whirled at a woman wielding a pike. He kicked her to killing range and ran her through with his saber.

The remaining men circled him. Quinn felt his own blood puddling beneath him. His vision swam. He staggered in place.

A rioter screamed, "Look at us, you son of a bitch! These are the faces of your victims!"

"Yes, they are," Quinn hissed.

He Force-pulled the rioter onto his blade. Then kicking the corpse free, he swung his saber in an arc, taking two heads.

The final two rioters fired blasters. Quinn deflected both shots, opening smoking gulches in their heads.

He staggered the table, using it to stand. He fought for footing in a pool of his blood. The squeak of his boots was the only sound—until the elevator thrummed, moving up the shaft. Soon more rioters would seek their revenge.

Quinn pushed off the table. He held his saber and waited.

He blinked once and found himself flat. His deignited saber lay well out of reach. Warm blood gushed from his back, and he lost sensation throughout his body. Wide-eyed, tight-lipped, he stared at the ceiling.

There above him, haloed by the lab lights, an inky form coalesced. It was splendor and strength beyond all he knew.

"Scorekeeper," Quinn whispered.

"Your children are waiting," said a voice.

His chest filled with peace and Quinn Pascal died.


End file.
